


Glimmer

by deltachye



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Explicit Language, F/M, Reader-Insert, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 34,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x rivaille/levi ackerman]When Rivaille had slid that simple, silver band onto your finger, you had high hopes for the future. You wanted a daughter and a son. You wanted to read books with him, cuddled into his lap as the kids played outdoors. You wanted to grow old and never stop loving—and most of all, you wanted happiness.But when you and he belong to the treacherous Scouting Legion, there's no happiness for you both.Never.But of course, anybody can have a glimmer of light in the darkest hour.





	1. If You Must Know... [1]

* * *

 

When Eren had first met you, he didn’t realize who you were at first.

You were introduced as Lance Corporal Rivaille’s advisor, and that was it. You gave him a soft smile and a wave, and then you were gone, bustling away with another large stack of papers. Then Rivaille had dragged him into the dirtiest room in the world and told him to clean it until it was spotless.

Oh, that guy was an ass. Even if he _had_ saved his life, the man was pure ass and nothing else.

As he scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the wall, his thoughts wandered to you again, since he was thinking about his first impression on everybody on the Special Ops Squad. He supposed you seemed like a nice person, but then again, you could be a tad…off. _You_ were _close to Rivaille after all,_ he mused while polishing the window a second time. People always seemed to be a bit weird when they were associated with him.

“Hey, er… Eren, yes?”

He turned, seeing you standing in the doorframe, leaning against it. He found it a little creepy to be seeing you just as he was thinking about you, but shrugged that off and nodded.

“Yes, that’s me, Soldier…?” He wasn’t sure what to call you, only having learnt your first name.

“You can just call me [Name],” you said cheerfully, waving him off. He nodded and gave you a hesitant smile.

“Anyways, I’m here to apologize for the behavior of Rivaille. He’s a butt, isn’t he?” You rolled your eyes with the last statement, making Eren chuckle lightly. He turned it into a cough, afraid Rivaille would hear despite the fact he was probably on the other side of the castle. You took no offense and only giggled with him, shrugging.

“Well, I can’t really insult him,” Eren muttered. “He did save my life in that court…”

You nodded thoughtfully, your gaze turning up to the ceiling. You then squeezed into the room, dodging the maze of dirty water buckets. You held your hand out. “Here, pass me a cloth. It’ll be easier and faster if we both do it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—!” Eren protested, but you had already grabbed a filthy rag and walked over the untouched side of the room. You wiped the dusty wall from as high you could reach—which wasn’t too high, since you were a smaller lady than others—but furiously scrubbed.

“Nonsense! We’re a family here, we help each other out.”

“…thanks.” He was extremely gracious for your help.

You started initiating conversations with him, cracking jokes and laughing with him. You had a way of easing even the deepest troubles from people—the way you listened and nodded in all the right spots. He found himself telling you all his stories; the ones about Shiganshina, the distress of losing his mother and the devastation he felt… all to the fears he felt when he realized that he had turned into a titan. He told you about the absolute terror he experienced, and how vulnerable he felt in the court. He told you about the shock when he learned he had tried to kill his own family.

Then, he told you about dumb childhood stories with Mikasa and Armin. He made you laugh when he told you about the time he tried to race Mikasa and lost, all seven times.

And in exchange, you shared a few details about your own life. Where you had grew up in the walls, your mother’s unfortunate death from plague. Your face grew dark when you told him that your father had been in the Survey Corps—just like you and he were right now—and how your father had committed suicide before you even had a chance to see him for the first time. He had abandoned you and your mother as soon as you were born, and never came back.

You told him that the reason you had become a soldier was that you wanted to get back at your father. That you wanted to win over the titans and be stronger than your cowardly father ever was. You wanted to show him up—and make your mother proud.

The long silence after you spoke those words weren’t uncomfortable, but rather thoughtful. Eren felt extreme sorrow for you, but he was also awed. Awed by your strength and courage, and your pure will of iron. He knew he had a new friend that day, along with a new role model.

Suddenly, the wooden door slammed open, exposing the disgruntled face of none-other than Rivaille.

“I was looking for you ten minutes ago,” Rivaille said crossly, his narrowed eyes on you. Eren nervously got to his feet, turning his back to the Lance Corporal. It seemed that he hadn’t even noticed him, which was a huge relief.

“I apologize,” you answered smoothly. He heard you getting to your feet and brushing your pants off. “I was—“

“I don’t care what you were doing, just get over here,” Rivaille grumbled. Eren peeked behind him just in time to see the man dragging you off, his hand clasped on your wrist with only your echoing yelps left behind. Eren wondered what was so urgent that Rivaille had to collect you himself instead of sending a messenger.

The next day, Eren worked up enough nerve to ask Rivaille what your relationship with him was.

“Hah? Are you coming on to her, or something?” he sneered snootily, not even looking at him. “She’s twenty-nine, you know. I think you’re a little bit too much of a baby.”

“No! I was just wondering, that’s all!” Eren flushed at just the thought of it—he did think you were a pretty woman, but that was it. He appreciated your friendship and enjoyed your company, but his feelings had never strayed from that.

“Hmph,” grunted Rivaille, obviously not convinced. He turned his back to Eren, whipping the sheets with a long stick to free the dust from them. Eren winced with every whistling noise, and had half a mind to run before Rivaille “accidentally” let go of it and slammed it into Eren’s head.

“If you must know,” Rivaille muttered under his breath, pulling down the cloth that covered his mouth. He didn’t even look at Eren as he said the most shocking thing Eren had ever heard in his lifetime.

“She’s my wife.”


	2. The Likes of Him to the Beauty of Hers [2]

The next day, Eren shared his shock with the rest of the Special Ops Squad while peeling potatoes around a large bucket. They all nodded sympathetically.

“I thought she was pulling my leg when she told us,” Hanji said, throwing a peeled potato into the next bucket. She picked another one up, resuming the tedious process of skinning the rough, brown peel off the several hundred more in the barrel behind them. Her expressions were extremely animated as she waved her peeler around. “I mean, I was her best friend since we were _weeeeee_ cadets, and I didn’t even have a single clue they were even together! How do you even hide that so well?”

“She’s so pretty too,” Auruo sighed wistfully. “To think that the Lance Corporal of all people got to her first…”

“I heard they met during their childhood!” Petra gushed, also reaching for another potato. She shook her head, pushing back ginger locks behind her ear. “And that Lance Corporal was a huge thug at the time!”

“Really?” Hanji’s jaw dropped, and her hazel eyes widened, “she never told me anything about that. But it sounds just like a romance novel! Bad boy falls for the good girl?” Hanji giggled, looking at Eren with a grin. “Don’t you think?”

“I-I guess?” 

“And,” Petra continued, her eyes shiny with pride, “that she was his first kiss! But, only because she gave him CPR.”

“Now that’s definitely true,” Hanji confirmed with a little smug grin. “He was screaming while she did it. ‘Get off me!’ and all. It was so cute!”

A snigger went around the group. Even Eren couldn’t help but grin. He looked behind him to glance at Rivaille and you sitting together at the old, splintering park bench, your low conversation unheard. He had just noticed the golden band on yours and his left hands, sparkling in the sunlight innocently. He was bewildered by how comfortably Rivaille let it sit on his finger, and watched as you turned it absentmindedly around your own.

“Where do you learn all of these things that even Hanji, [Name]’s best friend, didn’t even know, Petra?” Gunter asked with a thin smile. 

“Around,” Petra waved him off. “Marriage is a big thing in the military, especially when it’s from the two prodigies of that time!”

“Prodigies?” Eren asked, his attention brought back. He knew, of course, that Rivaille was one of the best—but he hadn’t even known about you. 

“Mmhm! Lance Corporal was said back then to only be beat by none other than [Name]! But she was still ranked second.”

“If she’s so skilled, why isn’t she on the field rather than an advisor?” he asked.

“That, I don’t know.” Petra tapped her chin, looking up thoughtfully.

“Oh yeah, didn’t she withdraw a while ago by request?” Hanji input. “She used to be one of the best fighters on the field, from cadet schooling to now. She even has a solo kill that’s matched only by Lance Corporal. I remember asking her about it, but she just ignored me!” 

The rest of the group nodded, excluding Eren. He looked behind him once more at you, who was sipping her tea peacefully. What could have possibly caused you to withdraw from the field if you were so skilled? You suddenly noticed he was looking at you, and gave an almost apologetic smile and pointed behind him.

Then he saw that Rivaille was not sitting beside you anymore, and whipped around to see the very man standing in front of the group with one of the scariest faces possible.

“Your progress is slowing,” he said in a cool tone, surprising everybody with his stealthy presence.

“I-I apologize!” Hanji shrieked, jumping back from her stool. “We were—“

“Back to work, or you’re all sleeping in the dungeon with Eren! And mind you, it smells like utter _shit_ down there,” he snapped, before turning away with a swish of his cloak. 

“Again, how did such a lovely lady like [Name] end up with the likes of _him_?” Auruo grumbled, unconsciously rubbing his nose.


	3. Drive and Blood [3]

You were a young girl when you first decided to join the Scouting Legion. 

Only 10, you had already set your eyes on that goal. You would don the cloak with the Wings of Freedom, and then you would fly. You would eradicate the titans and free humanity from its confinement within the walls. 

And you would show your dead father that he was a coward.

The day finally came. You were finally fifteen—your birthday had occurred only a couple of weeks ago. As soon as military enrollment for cadets opened up for the year, you found yourself standing in a line with other girls and boys. Even with the relentless beating of the sun and the dry, harsh dust constantly finding it’s way into your eyes and mouth, your face was grim. Your arms were stiff from holding it in a salute for so long, but you forced yourself to stand still. You needed this. If you failed…

Your life would have no meaning at all.

You looked at your surroundings. It was swirling dirt and sand for as far as you could see, and it wasn’t much. You were shorter than most people your age to say the least, and everybody beside and around towered above you. It was annoying at times, but you didn’t particularly care. You would build up enough strength to accommodate your height anyways.

Beside you stood a thin male with shaggy black hair, so long it touched his shoulders. He looked a little more ragged than anybody else standing here, even in the matching uniform everybody had been given. He slumped without even a half-hearted salute, and had a face of not fear, determination or anything—but boredom. This guy instantly ticked you off. Who did he think he was to be standing here if he didn’t care? 

You attention was drawn away from him by Kitts Verman, a captain of the Stationary Guard. He was much closer than you had last seen him, which was several rows in front of you. He was yelling down at another cadet merely five people from your left, who looked like he was about to wet his pants. You gave a mental scoff and turned away, staring at the back of the shivering girl in front of you. If you weren’t already strong, how would you survive? Survival of the fittest, they said. 

You waited patiently for the Captain to visit you, ready to get this over with. You were sweating through your clothes, as was everybody else in the vicinity, which wasn’t a pleasant smell. Minutes ticked by, and finally, he was at the yawning boy to your side.

“What are you here for?” the Captain shrieked at him, spittle flying off his lip. You watched dully, waiting for his response.

“Eh, was forced to,” he said, shrugging lightly. The Captain seemed enraged by this and picked the boy up by his collar, dangling him centimeters off the ground.

“Where is your fucking backbone!? Everybody else has reason, yeah? Are you here for the shits and giggles, huh? To win your girl’s heart? This is serious shit you’re walking into—you are about to be sent off as humanity’s hope! To battle the titans and regain humanity’s dignity! To win!” You flinched. The Captain’s voice still rung in your ear, making you dryly wish he would at least keep his voice down. “Well?” he spat, demanding an answer from the silent boy.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to spit in other people’s faces? You’re disgusting,” said the boy, unfazed by the fact he was still dangling several feet in the air. You raised your eyebrows, surprised that he could still talk back in that tone. Your distaste for him only grew—even more than your dislike for the kiddies here to merely join the Gendarmerie for the sake of cowardice. 

He was apathetic. He had no drive. No fight.

He was merely a waste of space to you who dared to breathe the same air as anybody else.

“You!” the Captain barked after a long, tension filled silence. He dropped the boy onto the ground, who steadied himself with ease. You realized he was screaming at you now, and you turned to face him.

“Yes, sir.” You were aware of all the eyes on you, including the boy’s. You glanced at him, meeting his gaze. You looked away quickly, the irritation in your stomach boiling up just by looking at him.

“What are you here for?!”

Your answer was quick and brief. “To show my father I am not a coward, sir. I am here to join the Scouting Legion, to eradicate Titans from our world and to free humanity from our cage.”

“You see?!” the Captain turned back to the boy who was still staring at you. This time, you kept his gaze. His eyes were void of feeling—while yours were filled with warm hate. The boy turned to the Captain slowly, his head lolling on his shoulders. “That’s a soldier! She will walk with pride! And what are you? Scum!”

“Nah, I mean… I think she’s quite ugly…” he responded lazily, jerking his head towards you. Your scowl deepened. 

“One hundred and fifty pushups! Not one more less! If I see you take a _second’s_ break, you can kiss goodbye and send your ass back to the farms!” he screamed at the boy, before pushing him down on the ground. You watched the Captain as he stormed past you to the next person, yelling at him next. You turned your gaze away from the boy and watched the person in front of you again with glassy eyes, completely aware of that set of cobalt blue eyes that were still trained on you.

\---

The day was finally over. You had finished a lukewarm shower, and was ready for your dinner. A friendly, overly-energetic brown haired girl with thick glasses initiated conversation with you, and soon you found yourself chuckling with her as she told you about her life with so much enthusiasm she punched a guy by accident. You befriended her and ate your dinner with her, trying to hold in mouthfuls of soup and bread as she made you laugh over and over. 

When it was time to go to the assigned dorms and sleep, a military officer stopped you at the door and ordered you to give food to the boy from earlier. You felt dread just at the thought of looking at him again. The military officer was serious though, and very reluctantly, you agreed.

You stepped outside into the cool night, wistfully looking behind you to the comfortable looking wooden hut you should be sleeping in. With a stomp of frustration that brought dust swirling up your leg, you hurried out into the dim field where the boy had last been seen. The desert was suddenly vast and wide when it was empty, lonely wind whistling through with gentle whispers. You looked around in the dark, squinting blindly. Lo and behold, he was still there, lying facedown in the dirt.

Hesitantly, you approached him and nudged him with a toe in the side. He woke with a startled grunt, scrambling to his knees.

“Dinner,” you told him in a curt voice, holding out the loaf of bread and bowl of cold stew for him. He eyed you warily, his thin eyes narrowing. He took the items from you suspiciously, surveying the quality of it. When he was satisfied, he started wolfing it down like there was no tomorrow. You wrinkled you nose in disgust and was about to walk away before something caught your foot. You tripped forwards, having a second of panic before your chin made contact with the hard ground.

With despair, you realized that the laces of your boots had been tied together. The guffaws from behind you sealed the deal, and rage boiled up in your stomach, pushing away the heated embarrassment.

“What. The. _Hell._ ” your voice was a hiss through teeth, as you slowly got to your knees. His giggles ceased to chuckles, before he finally responded to you.

“What’s your name?” he asked—no, demanded. His voice, still high with laughter, sounded extremely commanding. You hated him even more.

“Why should I tell you?” you sneered, managing to rip apart the knot that held your feet together. It snapped, and you clenched it in your fist. “You’re not giving me a good impression, you shitfaced…” you couldn’t even think of an insult that correctly defined the amount of pure ass he was.

“Just ‘cause. I’ll give you a deal, even! You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine.”

You were grinding your teeth together at this point. You knew the best thing to do would be to get up and stomp away haughtily, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Something about that light grin you could see even when you weren’t even looking at him made you want to butt horns with him, to accept his challenge.

“… it’s [Name].”

“Huh, sounds just as dumb as your face. Mine’s Rivaille, pleasure to meet you. Remember to watch your feet next time.”

And with a frustrated cry of “Fuck you!”, you got up and charged away, huffing to yourself, and leaving him chuckling with amusement once more.


	4. Round 2 [4]

The following day from the “incident” (the incident being Rivaille's total douche-ness), it was sparring. Normally it would be the test of a cadet’s ability with the 3D Maneuver Gear’s harness, but a heavy storm had snapped the pole of one station, forcing it to be put off.

 

The Captain of the Stationary Guard was monitoring instead of the normal Captain. You and Zoe—your new best friend—stood together, checking the list of who would be sparring against whom.

 

“Look, [Name]! You’re up against Rivaille!” 

 

“What?!” with extreme discourage, you saw that Zoe was correct. The partners had been chosen with only heights and weights taken in account. There were always the ups and downs of being short, and this was definitely an all time low. With a moan, Zoe only laughed at you as she clapped you on the back. 

 

“Good luck!” she sang, sauntering away to pick up her wooden sword.

 

“What, disappointed?”

 

You jumped and turned, only to see Rivaille’s smirk. You scowled at him, turning your gaze away to your feet.

 

“Very much so,” you retorted, crossing your arms. He laughed, rolling his eyes at you.

 

“Well, if it consoles you in any way, I’m pretty let down too. See ya’.” With that, he walked away from you, leaving you balling your hands in fists and audibly hissing. Oh, you were going to show him. And hopefully, leave him with a couple of bruises for reminders.

***

You tested out the weight of the fake sword in your hands, twirling it and taking fake slashes. It was well balanced, and would definitely hurt a lot if it hit you. 

 

You heard Rivaille pulling his feet towards you, and didn’t even bother to look up at him. You could sense the smug grin on his face either way. 

 

Only when the call to “ready position” had been made, did you meet his gaze. He was still smiling with that "Punch Me" face, holding the sword in his hands with an expert’s form. You were a bit taken aback by the way he stood so professionally, but forced yourself to remain calm. You would beat him. If you didn't, you had a sinking feeling that you would never hear the end of it until your deathbed.

 

He took the first swing at you, so strong you could barely hold it back. He came at you with a flurry of jabs and feints, so fast that all you could do was block. He laughed gleefully somewhere in the middle of clashing wood, making you growl at him in response. You didn’t just want to win this anymore, you _needed_ to. 

 

You managed to twist the blade in his hand, forcing him to step backwards. His eyes widened slightly at this advancement, but his grin grew wider with it. You were tired now—your breaths were harsh and you could taste blood in the back of your throat. How long had it been? Two, maybe three minutes? The fast pace was taking it's toll, but to your annoyment, Rivaille hadn't even broken a sweat. You needed to push through, to prevail...

He pulled his sword away from yours and made a feint towards your leg, and then managed to hit you in the arm…

 

…just as you whipped him in the leg.

 

You winced and hopped backwards, clutching your shoulder, which was bruising quickly. Rivaille made almost no reaction, but limped away, dropping the blade onto the ground. He had been too focused on you to notice the jab you made towards him, and you were too focused on him to notice the swing he pulled at you.

 

You then finally noticed the cheers of your fellow cadets, who had all stopped their own business to watch your spar. Zoe gave you a huge thumbs up, and many other people were applauding with wide faces of awe. 

 

 _“Wow…” “I thought they would suck, I mean, look at their size…” “Where on Earth did they get so good…?” "Man, they're totally going to kick our asses..."_ You picked up several lines from hushed conversations around you, all of them whispering about you and him. 

 

“Why, don’t we have a pair of prodigies here,” Dot Pixis said, smiling down at you both. You jumped, not having noticed him approaching you.

 

“Thank you, Sir,” you replied, at the same time he did. You shot him a glare, and he stuck his tongue out at you.

 

“Keep at it,” he told you both, that creepy smile never fading. He turned away and ordered the other cadets to continue as well. You picked up your blade with new determination, even though you ached all over from only a single match.

 

“Round 2?” you asked him, your voice low and dangerous.

 

“Very well,” he agreed in a taunting voice. You only scowled and ran at him again.


	5. Haircuts and Love [5]

It was a warm, yet breezy day. The leaves of the towering oak trees above rustled calmly, the branches dancing gently. A small smile took over your scowl for a mere moment, as you basked in the shade. You’d only seen harsh sun for the entire month, and the final coolness against your skin was refreshing. You glanced over at your companion, only to frown again.

“God Rivaille, why is your hair so _disgusting_?” 

He looked over at you, obviously annoyed that you had disturbed his train of thought. His greasy locks that you referred to swayed lightly in the breeze, making you feel like cringing. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Then you’re fucking blind!” you scooted over the rough surface of the large rock you and Rivaille hung out together on. “I mean, _this_ , is literally absolute shit. When was the last time you cut it?”

He didn’t move from his perch, but his face darkened. “My mother cut it. She died the next day. Shot down by soldiers.”

You froze, your half-grin slowly fading. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, guilt clawing at your stomachs. You backed away. “I-I didn’t mean to…”

“Really, it’s fine. You don’t have to suck up to me like some little fan girl. Of course, unless you are, [Name]. The ladies love me, I hear.”

“Ha! My ass, Rivaille,” you laughed again, your grin wide. He grinned back, punching you on the shoulder.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for, you dick?!”

You and he squabbled before he tickled you in the side, one of your soft spots. You squealed out loudly, before lunging after him in anger. He made a very childish giggle of laughter, leaping off the rock and taunting you. He shook his ass in your face, making you howl in disgust and race after him, like two innocent schoolchildren fighting in the playground.

If only it was ever that simple.

\---

Rivaille yawned widely, his mouth stretching wide like a cat. He smacked his lips together, only to have cold hands cover his eyes. His muscles stiffened, and he was just about to rip the attacker’s hands off his head and off their torso before he heard that signature giggle. He sighed.

“[Name], what the hell are you doing in my bed?”

“That’s not a way to greet a lady!” you exclaimed, puling your hands away. He turned slightly to see you pouting at him, your lips turned downwards in an almost comical way. 

“But you’re not a lady,” Rivaille responded dryly, feigning confusion. You slapped him across the back of the head, halting his snorts of laughter.

“I _was_ going to do something nice for you… but I guess I won’t. See ya’.”

“Whoa there, wait just a second.” Rivaille turned to face your retreating form, who immediately paused. “Just what’s this “nice” treat you have for me?”

You turned on your heel, holding a pair of golden scissors. Your grin was even sharper than the blade. You clapped your hands together with an excitement Rivaille had never seen from you before. “Why, I’m going to be your hairdresser!” 

Rivaille felt himself pale. “Sorry, I think I have to go attend my… my… knitting class. Yeah. Gotta go.”

He went to sit up and hurriedly sprint away, only to feel your hand clasped on his shoulder. It tightened so much it hurt, forcing him to sit back down again. He forgot that your delicate little fingers held strength. 

“Your crocheted scarf will have to wait,” you said in a dangerously cheery voice. The cold metal of the scissors touched his scalp, and he flinched. “Don’t worry, you’ll look extremely hot by the time I’m done with you.”

“Hot enough for you?”

“Piss off.”

You didn’t even tell him to take off his shirt but merely started cutting right there, in his bed. He had half a mind to tell you to stop, but remembered you were the one holding dangerously sharp tools and decided against it. As he sat there with you snipping away, looks of tangled hair falling away to itch at his neck and back, he had memories. They were warm memories of his mother, who hummed a soft melody to him. You did no such thing, as you would call it signs of weakness, but your hands against his shoulder and the heat that your body radiated to his back was probably the closest thing to true comfort that Rivaille would get.

Before he knew it, you slapped him on the back of the neck again. He yelped out in surprise, feeling you clapping on his back and blowing hairs away. “All done,” you said, sounding pleased.

“I’d better look smoking hot,” he said with his voice dripping with sarcasm. You drew a mirror from wherever girls kept their things, handing it to him. He snatched it from you, hesitantly peering into the glass.

Surprised, he was satisfied by how he looked. He looked sharper, professional even. He turned his head, craning his neck to see every angle.

“Do you like it?” you asked, a sort of nervousness in your voice. He had completely forgotten your presence. He looked at your hands, which were fiddling with the scissors with a sort of anxiety he never saw you experience before. 

“Nah,” he said dismissively, dropping the mirror. He saw your face fall, your features downcast. 

“I love it.”

You brought your eyes up to him, wide and shiny with moisture. Were _you_ , ‘Miss. Tough Girl’, really to the brink of tears because he told you he didn’t like your work? He almost laughed at you, but was forcefully stopped by your hug. 

“For such a rude asshole, you say some really romantic shit,” you told him in a gruff voice, despite your close embrace. He didn’t know what to do, except awkwardly pat you on the back. 

“Thanks?” he said, the statement more of a question. You punched him on the shoulder, sneezing loudly and almost scaring him to death. 

“God, wash up! Your hair’s all up my nose now, you ass!”

“And who’s fault is that?” He laughed again when you sneezed, your eyes teary. You punched him in the shoulder again, which was getting pretty numb. “Alright alright, I’m going!”

“You better keep that hair cut, or I’ll…I’ll… achoo!” your taunt was broken by a flurry of sneezes, leaving Rivaille breathless and you chasing after him with a fist in the air.

He never got his hair cut in a different way again.


	6. Take Flight Across Man's Cowardice [6]

“Say, Rivaille…”

 

“Hn.”

 

You stopped peeling sprouts and rested the small pairing knife on your knee, the other hand holding your chin thoughtfully. Rivaille looked up at you, his eyebrow arched. His newly cut hair looked much better on him, and everybody commented on it. You never let him forget it, either.

 

You felt uneasy, trying to word the question you wanted to ask in your mind. You didn’t really want to say it but opened your mouth, forcing yourself to speak.

“Which military force are you joining?” you blurted out.

 

Tomorrow was the day of your graduation test. You felt nervous, even though you were the one person who shouldn’t. You had always scored highly—no, excelled on practices, and was always confident on your skills. Everybody looked up to you. But anxiety still fluttered around your stomach, like small butterflies just exploring the world.

 

Rivaille brought your attention back with a haughty ‘humph’. With an apathetic sneer, he responded, “I’m joining the Survey Whatever. Duh. Why are you asking _me_ though? Aren’t you the one always talking about how you’d join it and show up your dad?”

 

“I just want to be sure.” You waved him off, trying not to show that the fact you wouldn’t have to be separated from him relieved you so much. Curious again, you asked him another question. “Why do you want to join, though? I thought you’d be like one of those snooty bitches who just want to cower in the Gendarmerie.”

 

“Sorry I’m not a little bitch,” Rivaille retorted easily, to your sarcastic scoff. There was a short pause. One thing you liked about spending time with Rivaille was that silences were not awkward. They were welcomed and relaxed, the air filled not with words but thoughts. Although you liked Zoe and your other friends, Rivaille was one you could be true to. He cleared his throat, his statement having an air of laziness. “Why do I want to join… No reason, really. The commander of that legion wants me to. That’s all.”

 

“Really?” you asked, your eyes widening. “Erwin Smith, _the_ commander of the Scouting Legion spoke with _you_?”

 

“Calm your stupid, moony-eyed look,” he snapped at you. He sighed, his tone becoming bitter. He turned away and scoffed, his eyes focused on the ground. “He’s the one who sat my ass _in_ the military, anyways.”

 

You were silent, waiting for him to go on. He glanced up at you, before rolling his eyes. “I answered your question, so stop looking at me like that.”

 

“But,” you whined, drawing your stool closer to him. He edged away, but you only came even closer when he did. People looked over to your station to find out the source of the constant screeching noise of stools scratching against the ground. “What was he like? What did he say to you?”

 

He pushed your touchy hands off of him, toppling you into the dirt. But as he gave you a rude chuckle to your angry cry, he remembered.

***

“Ah, yes. Thank you for your time. I hope our business was beneficial tonight. Sleep well.”

 

That formal voice that startled a young boy awake was familiar to that boy’s keen ears. He recognized the smooth flow of words, the subtle sway that made you feel like you should obey his every word. It was a voice of a commander.

 

The young blackette named Rivaille ground his teeth together. He hated—no, despised— he government, the military… everything. Soldiers who merely laughed and pointed at kids like him. The kids who had nowhere to go except the streets, and the kids with nobody to return to. Soldiers who would kick him in the sides until he vomited scarlet: they would steal the food he had managed to earn honestly and then would beat him to near death if he stole. He had spent many nights crying and whimpering, nursing wounds… but he had spent far more in a seething rage.

 

Tonight, he would make a stand.

 

His heart started to race in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears sounding like thudding footsteps. He peered out of the alleyway he had been napping in and saw the man, right in the hazy porch light. He was tall and blonde, standing with a regal posture and air. His back was turned to Rivaille, and his hands were clasped with each other as he bid the man he was speaking to goodnight. Rivaille’s anger only intensified. What was it now? Yet another request to eradicate the homeless?

 

Unable to hold himself back anymore, he swiftly sprinted against the side of the walls and made a desperate leap. He found a razor in his hand as he jumped towards the Commander, his dark blue eyes wide with fury.

 

“What the hell?!” an escort yelled, as Rivaille latched onto the commander’s back. He ignored the man, worming his way to the neck for a swift strike. So close.

 

But it was a mistake to let the other soldier out of his sight, for as he held the metal to the Commander’s throat, he felt himself being flung off and into the wall. He watched as the embodiment of his hatred was torn away from him, mere milliseconds away from being sent back to Hell.

 

When his vision cleared of black spots, he was forced onto his knees harshly. The small blade was torn from his weak hand, and the unmistakable nozzle of a musket dug into his back. 

 

“How dare you attack the Commander?!” a second soldier screamed at him, his spittle landing in wet droplets onto his face. He kept quiet, sealing his lips and accepting his fate. At least he wouldn’t suffer any longer, if they executed him on the spot. Maybe he would even inspire other minds like him. 

 

“Calm down,” the man he had just tried to kill said sharply. He dismissed the second soldier easily, shutting him up. Rivaille heard him kneeling, his jacket rustling close to his ears. Rivaille opened his eyes to meet intense blue ones, which were looking at him studiously. He looked away, unable to keep the gaze. 

 

“My name is Erwin Smith. What’s yours?” he asked, completely shocking him and everybody else. Erwin was acting much too natural around his would-be killer, even… _friendly_. Rivaille ignored him once more, biting a sarcastic retort away.

 

“You look much too young to be by yourself. Are you ten? Where’s your family?”

 

“My mother was killed for taking an apple,” Rivaille hissed, unable to keep silent any longer. “Killed because of the likes of you!” He felt the hands around his arm tighten, making him wince. Sharp stabs of pain bloomed across his cracked skin.

 

“Release the boy,” Erwin commanded, noticing his pain instantly. His order bewildered the first soldier that had grabbed him, and his grimy hands hesitantly twisted around Rivaille’s. 

 

“But—!”

 

_“Now.”_

 

With reluctance, the first soldier let go of Rivaille slowly. He rubbed his fists together. The desire to kill had left Rivaille completely, for some reason. In fact, all he wanted to do was get away.

 

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Erwin said, his voice low and full of compassion. Rivaille was too confused by now. Why would somebody like him even care about a lowlife? Even further, a lowlife who had just attempted to assassinate him? There was a short pause, save for the uncomfortable shifting his escorts made. 

 

“Why are you letting me go?” Rivaille blurted out, the question finally bursting through his lips. Erwin looked surprised to be asked this, as if it had never came across his own mind.

 

“I believe in talent,” he responded, slowly and carefully. The piercing blue gaze raked up and down his body, settling on the dirty green cloak he had slung around his shoulders. Rivaille had found it in the trash in mainly good condition a while back, and wore it to keep him warm during the cold nights. He shivered with Erwin’s gaze, a cold trickle of uneasiness tracing up his spine. “You have the cloak of the Scouting Legion. You have the extraordinary talent of a prodigy. You have the passion of a wild animal, and the fierceness in your eyes like a lion. Now, I just have to give you wings.” He pointed to the twin feathered wings on his chest, the emblem dim in the gold light. The blue and white seemed to flutter to Rivaille, the majestic feathered span taking flight in his eyes, floating away to freedom. 

 

“You will fly where no man has ever dared to step foot in before.”


	7. Must Fight, Must Win, Must End [7]

Days passed. Those days turned into weeks, those weeks turned into months, and those long months turned into years. Years of sweat: training and more training, physical exertion, and the feeling of not wanting to get up ever again. Many of your fellow cadets had been expelled or removed themselves by their own will. Many cried at night when they thought everybody had fallen asleep. 

 

But the few that drove on with blank eyes were the few that moved on and kept walking forwards.

 

Today, you would get your graduation ranks. The top 10 would be able to advance into the Gendarmerie, while the rest would choose which legion to join. You knew where your heart was set. You knew where it was when you flew through the trees, slicing your blades into the necks of the fake titans that roamed the forest for your graduation test. You knew where it was all those nights consoling Zoe as she cried. You knew where it was when you fell and couldn’t get back up, the tiredness in your legs too much. You knew where it was when Rivaille extended his hand and pulled you to your feet.

 

You were born to fly. You felt most at home when sailing through the air, the maneuver gear on your waist effortlessly swinging you around in the sky. You were always said to look like you were dancing when you donned the gear—a long ribbon flitting through the wind. 

 

You were born to wield these blades—those that were digging into the fake flesh of the crudely drawn titan that lunged at you. Those that would slice into the skin and bone of a real monster, one that would stare at you dumbly with the intention only to kill.

 

You knew where it was when Zoe held your hand, her face bright with anticipation as you stood in the large dirt field, the commanders of each legion holding a paper with a person’s fate written onto them. You knew where it was when you glanced at Rivaille, who gave you an uninterested look as always.

 

You were going to the Scouting Legion.

 

You didn’t care if it was the most dangerous. You didn’t care if you got the highest rank of them all, and you didn’t care if you were going to be dead and rotting away in your future. You were going to be in the Scouting Legion.

 

“Our first, top-ranked graduate is…”

 

You watched with wide eyes as the commander of the Gendarmerie silenced the whispers of anxious cadets. _Are we going to make it in the walls…? Oh, I’ll quit if I don’t... Will we even pass…?_ You could feel Rivaille tensing up against you, the anxiety hanging in the air as if it was strung there.

 

“…Rivaille.”

 

You sighed, slightly disappointed that he had still managed to beat you even with your rigorous training and efforts. He gave you a smug grin and nudge as everybody clapped robotically, and you rolled your eyes at him. You could hear Zoe squabbling about how you should’ve won first, but you ignored her to keep listening.

 

“Second, by merely one point, is [Name] [Surname].”

 

The short list of ten kept going. You clapped when Zoe got her name called, along with several other classmates, and then it was done. A much longer list of passing graduates continued afterwards, but you had already stopped listening. You laughed with Zoe, accepting her huge celebratory hug that nearly toppled you over. And you winked at Rivaille, turning away just as he gave you a soft smile back.

 

Hell you had never anticipated before was soon to come. And just as soon, this day of a warm dusk and high-pitched squeals of cheer would be the lifeline you held. The few special memories you would remember as you died slowly, your blood the only thing keeping you warm.


	8. Newsflash! [8]

\--Present--

“[Name].”

You turned obediently, seeing your husband standing in the doorway. He had an apathetic face as always, his frown a slash across his face. Ever since you had married him you had always wished for him to smile more—but you supposed it would be one baby step at a time. 

 

“Yeah?” you answered, turning back to the papers you were straightening. You tapped them against the desk, with a tiny smile as you basked in the satisfying feel of all the sheets falling together in place. 

 

“I heard that you were going to go to the market this afternoon.”

 

You stiffened, your shoulders tensing underneath your tan jacket. You swallowed quietly to yourself, before turning to meet his gaze. It was hard and intense, boring into your very soul.

 

“Yeah,” you responded as casually as you could, shrugging to relax the rigidness. “I wanted to pick up some ingredients for the kitchen, and, uh…” you lowered your eyes slightly, muttering to yourself and slurring the words, “visit the doctor.”

 

“Are you sick?” Rivaille demanded, taking steps towards you. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were going, so I could go with you?”

 

“I’m not sick, and I definitely don’t need you to babysit me!” you argued, turning away from him and picking up your papers. “I just ran out of allergy medicine. Besides, I didn’t want to bother you, because I thought you were going to be busy with Eren—“

 

“He can come with us,” Rivaille said easily, resting his hand against your forehead with no warning. You flinched with surprise at his touch before glaring at him, pulling yourself away and storming off. 

 

“I said, there was no need—“ you tried to reason through gritted teeth as you walked down the hallway, trying to speed away from the dark glare that was still right on the back of your neck. He kept easy pace with you, his boots clicking against the cobblestone tiles. 

“Are you seeing somebody? Is _that_ why you’re so touchy?” he snapped, hurling himself in front of you and blocking your path. 

 

“Um, hello? Newsflash Rivaille, we’re fucking _married_! Did you miss the memo?” you shrilled, your voice high and venomous. You instantly regretted your words as you saw the confusion and hurt flash through Rivaille’s features, his eyes narrowing.

 

“You never swear,” he said in a lowered voice. He tilted his head, leaning forwards. “What’s wrong?” He saw you form the word ‘nothing’ with your mouth and cut you off before you could even start, shaking his head. “Tell me.”

 

You were silent, furiously trying to think up an excuse. “I…”

 

“Are you on your menstrual cycle?”

 

You blinked. And then again. Rivaille nodded understandingly, backing away from you.

 

“It’s been late. I was worried. Carry on then, I apologize for being rude. I’d still like to go with you though, to pick something up as well… Eren won’t be too much of a bother. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, the main doors, sharp.”

 

“How do you know my menstrual cycle days…?“ was all you could manage from the questions raging in your head. 

 

He blinked, as if the answer were obvious. “Didn’t you hear? We’re married.”

 

And he was gone, leaving you standing there with a befuddled look and a stack of documents.


	9. Little Solutions and Big Problems [9]

Eren sighed as he grabbed his cloak from its position on his floor, throwing it around his shoulders before sluggishly walking to the stairway. He still didn’t know why the Lance Corporal had requested he come with him to a trip to the market, especially since he should be undercover. Rivaille had merely shushed him and given him another task to do until noon. It was now another lunch he was going to be missing. It was beef stew, as well. He moaned aloud, attracting startled stares from the people around him.

 

The things he did for the Lance Corporal.

 

When he had finally climbed his way up the massive staircase and dragged himself outside, he saw you standing with Rivaille, your face looking sour. He approached slowly, not wanting to be rude and interrupt the conversation. 

 

“You treat me like a baby, even though I can hands down beat your ass to the moon—“

 

“Ah, Eren. You were late by two minutes, which will be greatly consequential in the future. Let’s get a move on.”

 

You blinked, surprised by the change of attention before noticing him standing there. You grinned and waved. He waved back awkwardly, still unsure of why he was particularly here. But magically, as if Rivaille had read his mind and exact thoughts, rode his horse over so he had the perfect angle to look down upon Eren and answered. 

 

“Oh, and we’re dragging you along as deadweight so you don’t screw up at the castle, and I can’t be there to kill you. Got it? Good.”

 

His horse turned and lurched away, the rhythmic _clopping_ reminding you and Eren that he wasn’t going to stop for either of you. You quickly swung yourself onto your own horse with ease, giving Eren another friendly smile before advancing forwards to talk with Rivaille. Eren followed, lingering back a few meters to give you and Rivaille privacy. He lost himself with the fiery autumn colours that stained the green leaves of the trees anyways. He enjoyed the cool fresh air and the pleasant ride, shrugging his hood down and resting his head forwards on the soft mane of his horse. Quiet murmurs would carry over to his ears, but otherwise it was mainly as still and quiet as nature could be. He could easily close his eyes and fall asleep, but settled for “resting his eyes” instead. 

 

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a horse whinnying indignantly and somebody jumping off. He looked up, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes to see you stumbling towards a tree, collapsing to your knees and gagging. You vomited violently, your frail body shaking as your heaved forwards. 

 

“[Name]!” Eren cried out with concern, stopping his horse, but hesitant to get off and see if you were all right. You looked extremely pale and was panting heavily, your hand clutching the tree like it was your lifeline. You made a weak whisper of a word before heaving again, dark bile oozing out the side of your mouth.

 

Rivaille leapt off his horse with grace, racing over to your side. He kneeled and held your shoulders supportively, muttering words to you Eren couldn’t hear. He saw you shake your head rapidly, your hair swinging from side to side like a curtain of fabric. Rivaille said something with more force, only to have you shake your head again. You choked on something before gagging, coughing loudly.

 

“Eren, get the water. Please.” Rivaille’s voice was forced through gritted teeth as he tore off his emerald cloak and dabbed your mouth for you. Your forehead rested against the bark of the tree, and your frame rose and fell dramatically with each breath. Eren obeyed quickly, hopping off of his horse and reaching to the pouch attached to the saddle. He unscrewed the canteen before handing it to Rivaille, who then promptly tilted it into your mouth. You swished it around, before spitting it out into the grass, your breaths still laboured and thin. 

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” you managed to force out, even though you looked the exact opposite of which. You were chalk white with bloody lips, your limbs were shaky and weak, and even your voice was hoarse and broken.

 

“You’re not,” Rivaille voiced Eren’s thoughts, his voice and features tight with a worry Eren had never seen from him before. He sighed deeply, before wrapping the dirty cloak in a ball and throwing it at Eren. Eren caught it, slightly disgusted but managed not to drop it. 

 

“We should still go to the marketplace, and visit the doctor…” Eren suggested, glancing back at you. You shakily stood, having to lean against the tree. You drew your cloak around yourself, your teeth chattering together. 

 

“I know. [Name] will ride with me—hook her horse to yours and let’s get moving.”

 

Eren nodded and got to work, quickly tying harnesses together and latching bolts. When he had finished, he heard Rivaille impatiently clicking his tongue, and you still feebly trying to make claims that you were perfectly all right. As soon as Eren got onto his horse, Rivaille had already started off the trail, moving as quickly as he could without disturbing you.

 

 _What could be wrong with her?_ , Eren and Rivaille thought.

 

Little did they both know.


	10. His Eyes [10]

When the market finally appeared from over the hill, it was in full swing. With the afternoon sun beaming down, people bustled around on the cobblestone steps like ants. People yelled at others with prices, with baskets of rosy apples and gleaming produce being handed around. It was a stunning sight.

 

Rivaille stopped Eren and gave him a list. While he was explaining some things in his normally cross tone, Eren looked over at you. You looked considerably healthier than before, and had fallen asleep on the short ride here. You were still weak and shaky, but hints of colour had returned to your cheeks.

 

“There’s coins in the third pouch. If you finish early, wait outside the doctor’s office. If you’re late, we’ll leave without you.”

 

Eren knew the threat was empty, because first of all: Rivaille would not abandon somebody he had worked so hard to protect, and second, the uncharacteristic nervous flitting in his eyes was unsettling. Lance Corporal Rivaille was always known as _the_ saviour of Humanity. Strong, bold, and his certainty never wavered. But now…

 

Eren stopped thinking about it, and nodded obediently. He wouldn’t do the Lance Corporal any justice by doubting him. He knew that that anxiousness he emitted was only out of love for you. 

 

Rivaille rode away quickly after that. Eren sighed and looked at the list, his eyes widening every time it unfolded. How much crap did he need to buy?

\---

When he had finally finished buying the last sack of ‘specially prepared organic rosemary sprigs’, he was beyond tired. It was almost as if you had written the list to provide the greatest workout ever, seeing as you were very specific about which stand to buy from, and those stands were on opposite sides of the entire marketplace. Not to mention he had no idea where they were and spent hours wandering for the right place.

 

He felt a little grumpy, but knew he was done and was able to go back to the castle and lie in his bed for the remainder of the day. Maybe Petra, the one other person who hadn’t stolen his food besides you, would have saved him some stew for supper. New eagerness born, he threw the pouch into the overflowing basket on the ground. He picked it up with a grunt and wild heave, waddling off to the doctor’s place.

 

He stopped at the stables first, untying yours and his horse off the pole. The doctor’s office was only a couple huts down from the posts where he stood. The sun was now setting, the fiery orange and red disc slowly sinking under the yellowing hills. He watched it for a few moments with a soft smile before tugging the horses and basket of groceries after him towards the doctor’s.

 

You and Rivaille were nowhere to be seen, but Rivaille’s horse was still lazily chewing on the grass beside the fencepost he was tied to. _They still haven’t finished?_ he thought with a little worry. _Is something that wrong with her?_

 

Then he heard the voices. Despite the muffling, it was obviously you and Rivaille, but your voice was angry and raised. Rivaille came back with cold sounding retorts, which only made you louder. He was curious as to what was happening, but didn’t want to intrude on yours and his privacy. He fidgeted for what seemed like eternity, playing with his bootstrap while he waited patiently on the gravel road. How did Rivaille manage to keep yelling like that for so long? He looked up. The sun had now completely sunken under the horizon, the navy sky a dark blanket settling in to take over the azure of day. The stars twinkled above him, constellations he never got to learn strong against the pitch black sky. He shivered. How long had it been? The office has been quiet for a long time now. Eren decided he could wait no forward and stood, creeping towards the wooden door. He felt the iron handle under his hand and was about to tug it open, before he heard noise again. He froze instinctively as he heard the abrupt sharp shrill of your voice, but the words were much more shocking. 

 

_”I’m sorry I never told you I was bearing our fucking child! Are you happy? Are you, Rivaille?”_

 

Eren’s heart stopped.

 

Bearing a child?

 

The door suddenly flung open, nearly shoving him to the ground. He stumbled aside just as you stormed out, your cheeks stained with two straight lines that reflected the pearly moonlight above. Eren felt too afraid to say anything, but you hadn’t noticed him anyways and swung yourself over your horse without a single word. You rode away with a whip of the horse’s reins, making him croak out in confusion. You were already long gone, the thundering of your horse’s hooves echoing away into silence. 

 

Rivaille was quick to follow after you, making Eren jump when he closed the door behind him with a sharp _bang_.

 

“Did you hear?” he asked quietly, staring at him with stormy blue eyes that reflected so many emotions Eren couldn’t even begin to keep track. Eren had to look away.

 

 _Did I hear?_ He had half a mind to lie. No, of course not. Nothing’s wrong. I heard nothing.

 

Only the deep, deep sadness that settled in Rivaille’s eyes made him nod. 

 

Rivaille mounted his horse, silent. He commanded Eren to get on his own, and he obeyed quickly. Rivaille was already moving as soon as Eren’s foot touched his stirrup. He raced after you, cloak billowing in the wind, and Eren could almost hear his Lance Corporal’s heart shatter as he rode.


	11. Only Because He Loves You So [11]

When Eren and Rivaille got back to the castle, they saw you dismounting your horse. Rivaille leapt off of his with great skill and approached, his hand touching your shoulder. You immediately jerked away, pushing him off of you with a scowl before stalking off in the direction of the vast forest. Eren rode up to Rivaille, who was watching you walk with an almost expressionless face. How could he be so flat at this time?

 

“You’re not going to go after her?” he asked Rivaille, incredulously. Rivaille shook his head, before walking in the opposite direction. Eren looked after him with wide eyes, almost wanting to call him back and force him after you. She’s your goddamn wife! He took a deep sigh and tore his eyes away. Yours and his business was not his to meddle with. 

 

He jumped off his horse, looking in the direction you went and then in the direction Rivaille had gone. He felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck despite the chilly night. Which way?

 

After much distraught, he groaned and jogged into the forest. He slipped past the first tree, a wide oak, looking around for any trace of you. He couldn’t see your petite figure anywhere, despite a thorough search between the dark green and brown. Deciding you had gone back to the castle, he was about to leave before he felt an acorn hit his head.

 

“Fucking squirrels,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the spot before hearing a short chuckle. He looked up, seeing your feet dangling merely inches above his eyes.

 

He cried out in surprise, jumping backwards and nearly landing on his ass. You laughed again as he stumbled, covering your mouth with a hand to stifle the giggles.

 

“Why’re you up there?” he grumbled, completely forgetting the situation. “You scared the shit out of me!”

 

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you to watch your language?” you replied in a playful tone, having finally calmed down. You put your hands back down on the branch you sat perched upon, the thick wood sturdy even as you shifted on it. 

 

“Didn’t anybody tell _you_? Don’t think nobody hears you when you stub your toe. What are you, a grumpy old man who yells at children on his property?” 

“Oi, think twice about what you say or this haggardly old man is going to beat you with a sword!” you said heatedly, making Eren smile. You smiled too, before it faded quickly. Your head bowed. “Long story short, Rivaille told me to shut up one day. I guess I did ever since, y’know?”

 

Eren finally remembered and felt awkward for being here. What should he say—?

 

“Come up here.”

 

He was startled by your words, and looked back up to see you patting the spot next to you. He wasn’t sure of what to do but decided to trust you and scaled the tree easily. There were many knots in the old bark, making many foot and hand holds. It was merely seconds before he found himself sitting next to you, looking down over the castle. It was dark, a precaution the Special ops Squad took to ensure nobody wandered over. The silhouette at the castle was like a painting, the hazy light of the moon illuminating the dew in the grass. There was a comfortable silence between you and him, as thoughts swirled around.

 

“I’m scared, Eren,” you finally whispered. He looked over in alarm to see you crying again, tears dripping down your chin. 

 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” he said after a while of thought, unsure of if it was the right thing to say. He took a deep breath, wondering why he should care about his nerves when yours were probably sky-rocketing. “It’s… only natural, right?” He winced, hating himself for making his ‘comforting’ statement more of a childish question.

 

“But what do I do?” your voice cracked, and you took a second to regain composure before continuing. “The Scouting Legion is no place for a child… a _family_. Not when death surrounds you everywhere you go, and the pressure of making it back alive is only left by shitty chance.”

 

“Language,” Eren croaked out, your seriousness making him anxious. Your lips quirked upwards into a half smile, relieving him again. He took a second to think about what to say next. “Why didn’t you just tell him?”

 

“I wasn’t even sure,” you sighed, fiddling with the edge of your shirt. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I just thought the two of you were really close,” he said, his voice timid with anxiety. You scoffed, now pulling at your collar.

 

“I don’t even know what I am to him any more. The one moment I _need_ his support is when he shouts his ass off?”

 

“He was just stressed. And worried, and scared. It’s only because he loves you. Besides, he’s an idiot,” Eren told you, more confident. Then, realizing his words, he paled. “Just, uh, don’t tell him I said that.”

 

You cracked another smile, nodding slowly. You were silent until he broke it again, another wobbly question sent into the night air.

 

“What’ll you do?”

 

You didn’t say anything for a long time, the words in your head being jumbled around before you finally opened your mouth. “The only way to properly raise a child… _my_ child… is to abandon the military.”

 

The words cut a hole of silence between you and him, the comfort broken. It was replaced by tension, making the hairs on the back of his neck raise. 

 

“But you and Rivaille can’t do that, can you?”

 

You said nothing. You didn’t even move. Your soft and slow breaths were the only thing telling him you were still there. Eren knew he was dismissed and put a hand on your shoulder. “Talk to him, [Name]. I know you can think of the right thing to do.”

 

You relaxed at his touch, as if you were waiting for it. Your voice was breathy, a touch above a whisper. 

 

“Thanks, Eren.”

 

Eren looked away, only to turn back when you said something again. 

 

“Go get supper, or it’ll be in Zoe’s stomach.”

 

Eren smiled a bit before jumping out of the tree, landing on the ground with a soft thud. He turned back up to look at you, but your face was hidden in the darkness. He left you be, your figure in the tree receding slowly until you were gone, blended into the forest.


	12. Didn't Even Think [12]

\--Past--

You blew on your hands, which were turning numb from the cold water in the stream. You wiped them on your cloak, drying them. It had only been a day since you set out for your mission, and you were already exhausted. Even your pinky toe hurt like hell from all the manoeuvring you were forced to do, since horses were deemed ‘too dangerous’. God, you’d have better have abs after all this. 

 

The mission was an extremely major one for your first. Your task was to bring back live specimen from the wild for testing, and the minimum for success was three. You’d heard stories of people dying just trying to get _one_. But three? You shook your head, scoffing. How fucked up for your push into womanhood.

 

“Move out!”

 

The soldiers of the squad immediately fell into line, you included. You wrapped the emerald cloak a little tighter around yourself sub-consciously, the wings on the back reminding you of who you were. It was almost as if you could feel them through your jacket and shirt — a warmth that wouldn’t let you give up. 

 

You felt a nudge beside you and looked to see Zoe, grinning at you. You rolled your eyes. You’d been delighted when she said she was going to join the Scouting Legion with you, and she’d done nothing but bug you the second she did. 

 

“Rivaille’s looking at you, honey,” she whispered to you as the commander of the squad checked his 3DMG. You glanced in his direction, but he was staring off into the distance with a blank look. You stuck your tongue out at Zoe, before getting ready to launch as the commander straightened. The squad of fifteen took off in perfectly trained unison, following the commander as he took the lead. You felt the pull and let yourself sail into the air, the feeling of weightlessness making your stomach churn as it desperately tried to orient itself. You ignored it, focusing on the rush of falling instead. You closed your eyes and grinned. You might hate a lot of things — yourself included — but you could never hate flying. It felt wonderful to have the thought of being free like a bird. To be able to escape the captivity and fear of Titans.

 

The only noise was the whir and hiss of the multiple 3DMG mechanics in action, the ropes snagging trees and the exhaust providing thrust. You kept the commander in your sight but wandered off in your thoughts, your eyes turning glassy before a sharp scream pierced the air.

You couldn’t turn course to land, and you could faintly hear your commander telling you to turn backwards. You obeyed, launching the rope to gracefully swing yourself back around. Once you did, your heart almost stopped when you found out what you were turning back to. 

 

Titan.

 

His — no, _its_ — dark eyes were small and beaded, sunken into his fat face. It was bald with a wide, flared nose and an even wider grin. You shivered. Those teeth. They haunted your dreams, when you were asleep and awake. Its fat hands pulled him through the thick forest, legs stumbling around clumsily. Its teeth snapped together, making a thundering noise that echoed in the foliage. And the commander was telling you to go straight for him.

 

You almost whimpered, if not for the shrill screaming still going on. You saw the young soldier beneath you, his eyes wide with fear.

 

“Shut up!” you hissed at him, letting yourself sink closer to him. You yelled at him again, “You’ll kill us all!”

 

“Help! Mom! Dad!” he squealed, ignoring you completely. He shot his 3DMG in a random place, still shrieking. You could hear the commander telling him to continue in a stern voice, but he ignored him as well. He was obviously trying to retreat, but was so flustered that he missed. He screamed again as his cable fell uselessly on the ground, and you watched with horror as he fell.

 

A body came crashing through, intercepting his fall just in the millisecond you were about to cry out for help. 

 

Time seemed to speed up again, and you almost crashed into a tree. You landed with less grace than you meant to, your knees cracking sharply. You ignored the dull throb of pain and looked behind you, seeing the boy thrust onto a branch where he held on for dear life. He had shut up, and switched to hyperventilating and sobbing. You tried to find his saviour, and instead heard a stomach churning _crack_. There was a splash soon after, and you looked down at the creek to see a body floating face-down in it.

 

Rivaille.

 

“[Name], stay put! Don’t move, we need this bastard alive!”

 

The commander’s voice was final, but you couldn’t bring yourself to obey. Punching the tree beside you, you grit your teeth and kissed your career goodbye as you jumped down. This bastard better buy you some nice things for this.

 

You could still hear the titan moaning as you fell — see him out the corner of your eye — but you kept your focus on Rivaille. He was motionless in the water, and you could see streaks of blood leaking out the side of his head into the clear water. You let yourself glide down to him, your boot scraping against the gravel riverbed. You hit the ground running, almost tripping in your hurry to get to him. You could hear your name being called but you shut it all out, your eyes only on him. 

 

You almost slid past him, but leapt right into the icy cold river without another thought. You almost froze with the shock. So cold. How peaceful would it be to just stop moving at all? You could join your mother. Knit with her on warm Sunday mornings, laugh with her at the juggler in the market. Yes, how nice would it be to just give in…

 

Cold… 

 

You saw Rivaille’s cloak brush faintly against your face.

 

You grabbed it, kicking desperately. You took hold on one of his body parts, but it was good enough. He was heavy, yet you pulled with all your might. You breached the surface like a dying fish, gasping for breath. You gave a mighty push and shoved Rivaille onto the riverbank, flopping down beside him soon after. You gagged on your hurry to breathe sweet, sweet air and almost threw up. You crawled weakly over to him, your fingers so numb you forgot they were there. You slapped at his face, pulling him to roll over. There was a gash on his forehead, which still bled profusely. More importantly, he wasn’t breathing.

 

You didn’t panic. You didn’t call his name, and you didn’t even think. You put your lips to his.

 

He spluttered back to life almost immediately, coughing water up from his lungs. You were still lying on him, your mind too slow to realize he was all right. 

 

“Get off me! What the fuck?!” he screamed at you.

 

Oh. He’s okay.

 

You rolled away from him, swaying in your half-kneeling-half-lying position. You pointed at him (or at least waved a limp hand in his direction) as he held his wound, wincing. He was still saying something angrily, but you didn’t really remember what words were any longer. 

 

“Yer’ a dick,” you slurred. You then passed out.


	13. Warmth [13]

You sneezed.

 

“The hell was that?!” Zoe exclaimed, jumping. Her ponytail swayed as you wiped your nose, sniffling loudly.

 

“God farting,” you responded in a rough voice. She rolled her eyes at you, turning back to her stew. You sneezed again, the sound squeaky and mouse-like. She jumped again, looking at you incredulously. “What?” you asked hostilely. Your voice was nasally.

 

“You… sneeze, like _that_?” she seemed on the verge of a fit of laughter, but was managing to wrestle it down.

 

“Yeah,” you said hotly. “Don’t you dare fucking laugh at —“ you sneezed again, bringing her tightened lips to loud guffaws. You slapped her arm, scowling with a blush. You never liked your sneeze. It was too… cute. You weren’t really ‘cute’, despite your small physique. Having the champion title of ‘arm wrestling’ was something, wasn’t it?

 

“Sorry, sorry,” she giggled, taking deep breaths. She was about to say something else before the commander cleared her throat to bring the attention of the squad.

 

“It’s raining,” she stated as if nobody knew that. It had been for the past 3 hours — at first a drizzle, and now a steady pitter-patter. It would only be a few hours before a storm came on. She had forced the team to stay outside in the cold refusing to believe there was any precipitation. The commander continued, her nose high. “We’re to set up tents. _I’m_ going to assign partners, so listen up.” She cleared her throat delicately before pointing at people and then an area. You watched the already small group thin out until only you and Rivaille were left.

 

“O-oh, I didn’t realize there was an uneven amount of same genders,” she apologized, flustered. You had a death glare on your face that was only darkened by the shadow of your hood, and it obviously unsettled her. She left without saying another word, leaving you alone with Rivaille. He said nothing to you and stood. He retrieved a tent and left you to sit all by your lonesome. You looked after him, at least expecting some smug insult. But nothing at all? You still felt feverish after the whole falling-into-a-river thing, but you worried that Rivaille was more damaged than you.

 

You didn’t want to help him assemble the tent, so you decided to talk to Zoe. Her ass was sticking out of the tent flap as she rummaged for something, and you playfully kicked it. She yelped and turned.

 

“That was mean, [Name],” she whined. “I thought a hot guy was finally hitting on me!” You laughed but shook your head, about to leave her be before she said something that made you stop in your tracks. “but what about you, you’re sleeping with hot-guy Ri-vaille!” She chuckled at her own rhyme, putting her hands on her hips.

 

“N-not in that way!” you yelped, turning with a red face. She laughed at you this time, slapping her knee. 

 

“Of course your mind would go straight for that. It shows your true intentions, yeah?”

 

“I-it doesn’t say anything about me!” you replied, face still heated. You scowled. “it’s going to suck. He’ll probably put horse shit in my pillow.”

 

“Hey, I’m stuck with that creepy girl who eats bugs and licks your boots for no reason. I should about having to sleep with her sucking on my toes,” she pouted. You chuckled, her words never failing to humour you. She then bid you good night, disappearing into her tent. You took a deep breath. It was full-out raining now, and you felt yourself shiver. Your fever would only escalate if you stayed out any longer.

 

You found your tent quickly, seeing Rivaille secure the last peg. He saw you coming and threw down the wooden hammer. 

 

“Thanks for the help,” he said sarcastically, not waiting for an answer before he stepped into the tent. You followed silently, kicking your boots off. 

 

The small lantern you were allowed flickered dimly, safely tucked in a far corner. The flame was nearly dying, light clinging to the remnants of the wick. Rivaille had already set the sheets you would be stuck sleeping on neatly. He slipped under the blanket and settled in, paying no mind that you would be lying close enough to him to smell his unwashed hair. You stifled your groan and slowly followed, trying your hardest not to touch him as you shimmied yourself under the thin wool blanket. But of course, your tent had to be so fucking tiny, that you basically were back to back anyways. 

 

You lay there awkwardly for a while, counting seconds, not even realizing Rivaille had fallen asleep until he rolled over to face you with the most peaceful look you’d ever seen him with. Your childish urge to do something stupid to his face faded away as a softer feeling of warmth replaced it. You smiled gently, turning away from him quietly, trying your hardest not to disturb him. You closed your own eyes and drifted off into the world of dreams soon after, comforted by the warmth his arm draped around your body gave.


	14. Needs [14]

Rivaille jerked himself awake, almost crying out in fear if not for that same feeling constricting his throat. He found himself gasping, his eyes darting around before he finally relaxed. It was merely a dream. Nothing more.

 

His mother didn’t die in front of his eyes again. That soldier didn’t kick him in the stomach, laughing at him as he sobbed for her. Her blood didn’t stain his hands as he cried out for her. It didn’t happen again.

 

His heart lurched in fear once more when he remembered the other part of his dream. You screamed as you were torn away from him, your frail body clasped in a Titan’s hand. You sobbed his name over and over, begging for your life, and he could only watch on. He didn’t even reach out. You cried out as the Titan placed you in his mouth, only to have them quiet as he closed it. The splatter of blood rained down upon him — _your_ blood, oh so warm…

 

He felt something stir beside him before he could scream again. It was you.

 

You hadn’t left him like everybody else had.

 

His breathing became less ragged as he calmed himself down. He could finally hear the pounding rain outside, the droplets splattering on the roof of the tent like drums. It’d be too hard to get back to sleep in this storm, although he didn’t really want to. He closed his eyes with a sigh before realizing that there was a leak, and his face was wet. He reached to wipe the streaks of water from his cheek, irritated, only to realize it was coming from his own eyes.

 

After so long, he was crying again.

 

He grinned to himself. He forgot how it felt to be so weak. Ever since his mother had died he hardened his heart, promising himself to never succumb to such humiliation again. Yet here he was. 

 

How pathetic. A couple of scary dreams have reduced him to this. He was like a kid again, crying that he wet his bed. Beside a girl, too? 

 

He sniffled, wiping the tears away more frequently now. He could still feel you against his arm, your breathing ruffling a few hairs on the side of his head. He didn’t want you to wake up and see him like this. It’d be worse than humiliating. He tried to roll over, but he couldn’t without disturbing you. He merely sighed, letting his breath condense in front of his blurry sight. He was pathetic. 

 

He didn’t notice that you had woken long ago, due to his harsh gasps and repeated whispering of your name. He only did when he felt your hand brush against his.

 

Assuming it was an accident and just some fidgeting in your sleep, he moved his hand away to wipe his cheeks again. How did other people manage to stop blubbering so quickly? God, this was dumb… When he placed his hand down again, your hand was there to catch it. 

 

He stiffened with surprise as your slender fingers intertwined with his, squeezing them in a… reassuring way?

 

He wanted to pull away from you. Why were you touching him like this? Why did you even care about _him_?

 

But he didn’t.

 

He needed you.

 

He looked over at you, to see you had turned on your back. You were giving him the last bit of respect and dignity he could have — not facing him. Yet your hand was there, holding his. You rubbed his hand with your thumb slowly. It didn’t seem like you were conscious of it, but it only made him want to cry more. 

 

Tears fell silently on with the rain, as he held your hand in his while you held his hand in yours.


	15. We [15]

\-- Present -- 

Deep breath.

 

In. Out. It was always the first rule of calming down, but you didn’t know if anything could ease the anxiety and stress that made your heart thump in your chest so erratically. Your hand stayed clenched on the handle of yours and Rivaille’s bedroom, before you finally pushed it open.

 

He sat at the desk, merely sitting and staring out the window. The sun had just rose, the pink and purples that streaked the clouds breathtaking. Consider the view breathtaking — you could hardly breathe. You watched the sky for a moment, saying nothing before Rivaille broke the silence.

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

Not ‘What am I going to do?’. Not ‘What are you going to do?’ 

 

We.

 

You almost cried right there but took another breath to steady your emotions. You drew the other chair at the desk to sit beside him, your head down. He turned to face you, but you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. You only did so when he took your hand.

 

You watch as he raised it, studying the ring he had given you. It seemed like so long ago… It glimmered gently in the dawn’s light, the gold seeming to glow against your skin. You swallowed a thick lump of emotion in your throat again as he brushed his lips against it, eyes closed. He let it fall back against your thigh, leaning back in his chair.

 

“Do you remember when I asked you to marry me?” he asked. His tone was low and quiet, his dark blue eyes light with the sun’s rays.

 

Your lips twitched. “Yeah. I almost threw the ring back at you.”

 

He smiled too, one of the rare ones he would save only for you. It disappeared quicker than you could appreciate it, as he turned his head back to the window. 

 

“Wedding wasn’t worth shit. All we did was sign a document,” you added, uncomfortable with his silence. You shifted in your chair, intertwining and untangling your fingers.

 

He scoffed, and you saw him roll his eyes. He turned back to you, his face dead serious. He took your hand again, slowly contracting his fingers around yours so that they weaved together. 

 

You had always scoffed at those romantic books where the writer would say bullshit like “their fingers were made for each other” — but it was always true. Your fingers fit into his perfectly, without awkwardness or difficulty. You stared at his ring for a while, the gold of his much less scratched than yours. Your lips twitched. Always the neater one. You remembered buying it for him much to his protests, and even having to shove it on his finger. 

 

_”Rivaille, if we’re married, then you have to have one too!”_

_“I don’t want it. I have you.”_

_“For a dick, you say sweet stuff. Now take the damn thing before I stuff it down your throat. Have fun shitting it out.”_

_“Alright — alright! Get away from me, I’ll take it!”_

 

You smiled wistfully. As if he was remembering the exact same thing, he squeezed your hand gently. 

 

“I took you for better or for worse, [Name].”

 

Your eyelashes fluttered. You bowed your head again, letting your hair become a curtain from you and his gaze.

 

“This is worse than worse,” you whispered hoarsely, shaking your head. “I…”

 

“[Name], look at me.”

 

You did. His cobalt blue eyes that were always so piercing were gentle as he searched your own eyes. An answer. Help. Anything that would make the situation better. You didn’t have it, but neither did he. 

 

“I took you for better or for worse,” he repeated. “It still counts. Now, and forever.”

 

You didn’t get a chance to say anything before he stood abruptly, turning to go.

 

“Get some rest, [Name],” he said softly, his voice holding the pain you had learnt to find when he had hidden it.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” you asked frantically, yet allowing him to pull his hand out of your grasp. 

 

He merely kissed you on the forehead, lingered for a bit — and left.


	16. Regrets [16]

You woke up to an empty bed. The short memory of Rivaille slipping in next to you and kissing your cheek quickly faded as you opened your eyes. You sigh, lying still. You didn’t feel like getting up at all. Why should you? What future did you have lying ahead of you?

 

Unfortunately for your self-deprecating thoughts, Zoe burst into your room with a mouth full of what looked like bread. You groaned and pulled the thin blanket over your head, only to have it torn away just as quickly. Zoe grinned in your face, her teeth full of food. 

 

“Wakey wakey,” she sang in an annoyingly high voice. You groaned again, emphasising the volume, and pushed her face away with your open hand, closing your eyes. 

 

“Go away,” you said grumpily, trying to regain the warmth of the blanket Zoe had tugged from you. She pulled it away again, earning another loud and exasperated moan.

 

“You’ve got a mission from Smithy himself,” she told you, tickling you in the neck. The weak spot. You jerked away, almost rolling off the bed before catching yourself in the blanket. Now awake with curiosity, you rose slowly, rubbing your eyes. 

 

“Why does he need me?” you asked, still irritated. “I’m sure there’s better people that are _awake_.” Zoe shrugged, throwing you an envelope that you let hit your chest, too lazy to lift your arms to catch it. Ruffling the sheets aside, you snapped the wax seal off, running your tongue over your teeth while reading.

 

“What’s it say? It’s gotta be better than writing paperwork all day. Take me with you, [Nick Name]!,” she whined, changing conversation topics before you even replied. You scrutinized the handwriting on the page, before sighing through your nose.

 

“Sorry Zo, looks like it’s just me, myself and I.” You jumped out of the bed and strode awkwardly over the cold cobblestone tiles to the basket where you threw your clothes into every night, squatting and hunting down a proper shirt. Zoe moaned behind you, disappointed.

 

“A solo? Damn the Commander, he’s going to drive me insane. Well, before they wheel me out in straitjacket, what is it?”

 

“It’s ‘Top Secret’,” you said mockingly, pulling the buttons together over your bra. “That means I can’t tell you, Zo.”

 

“Aw, but [Name]! You know me!” She was whining again, just like some little kid. You scoffed mentally, grinning. You already had a child to deal with. Then you remembered what dwelled inside of you at this very moment, and frowned. You decided you didn’t want to think about it, so you pushed the thought away like you had so many other times before. 

 

“Yeah, I do know you so, so well. You’ll go blabbering to the entire castle, that’s what.” You stood and stretched, running a hand through knotted hair. You turned away from Zoe to find your boots, which you had thrown across the room somewhere in a frustrated fit last night. She followed, her eyes wide and shiny with eagerness. “If you want to know _that_ badly, then go ask the Commander himself.”

 

“God, no. That guy’s eyebrows creep me out. Can’t stand to look at him in the eye, else I’ll think those things will creep after me when I’m sleeping.”

 

You laughed, allowing yourself to smile. You hit her on the arm playfully, pulling the worn leather onto your feet. “Don’t insult the commander. _He knows all._ ” You wiggled your fingers in her face before pacing back to the other side of the room, retrieving a cloak.

 

“When’ll you be back, then? I haven’t talked to anybody for soooooo long. Even Auruo is ignoring me! They keep me cooped up in my office all day. There’s nothing cool to do, at all. Unless you call drawing pictures of a really hot—” you didn’t even realize she was still talking — or making a speech to you, until she shut up and waved wildly. She called out a name you dreaded, your heart immediately stopping. “Yo Rivaille!”

 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, whirling around to hit Zoe in the stomach. She evaded your poke but looked mildly confused, pouting. 

 

“What do you mean? He’s your hubby,” she asked, but it was too late. Rivaille had seen you, and his features tightened. He strode up to you with purpose, the bound stack of papers in his hand clenched in a harsh grip.

 

“Where are you going?” he demanded, making you flinch. You recovered your composure with a deep breath.

 

“Mission,” you retorted just as briefly, trying to side step him. He blocked your way, his eyes furiously searching your face. Zoe seemed to just notice the tension and swayed awkwardly, her fingers fiddling together. She was about to say something before Rivaille cut her off, his voice high with anger.

 

“What the hell do you mean you’re going out on a mission? Please tell me _you’re_ going with her,” Rivaille hissed, pointing at Zoe behind you. She shook her head wildly, obviously put off by his apprehension. 

 

“She’s not, because it’s called _solo_ for a reason. God Rivaille, I can take care of my goddamn self,” you pushed past him with force, but he managed to put himself back in front of you. He was furious now, eyes fiery. It would have scared you before, but maybe having another life inside of you kicked up the Tough Girl act a few notches.

 

“Not in your goddamn _condition_ ,” he mocked your words, although his tone was dead serious. He put his hands on your shoulders, clenching them in his grip. You felt enraged at his touch and pushed him away from you, managing to control an angry outburst with a deep breath.

 

“I’ll. Be. Fine,” you said to him in a dangerously low voice, your molars grinding together. You managed another ten steps before he stopped you again, making you cry out with annoyance. “Rivaille —!”

 

“I’m going with you,” he said in that matter-of-fact voice that made you feel like ripping every strand of hair out of your scalp. You didn’t let him finish, raising yourself onto your toes to stand above him. 

 

“No, you’re not!” you shrilled at him, balling your fingers into fists. You let yourself fall back onto the ground, breaths heaving in and out steadily. “Rivaille, I need some time away from you right now, if you can’t see that. Now leave me. Alone!” when you decided you had sufficiently told him to “Fuck off”, you pushed past him again, and he let you. You almost felt sad he hadn’t even tried. 

 

You ran a hand through your hair, stalking away. You heard Rivaille call your name softly, almost timid. You sighed loudly and halted in your steps with a stomp of the foot, wheeling around on your heel. You took another deep breath. You were about to tell him to “fuck the fucking fuck off you fucker”, before he took your face and kissed you.

 

He slipped his hands through your hair in that way he always did. The touch of his fingers against you used to comfort you but now only made you that much more anxious. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach, you relaxed your shoulders and closed your eyes. You allowed him to hold your lips in his, gently grazing his tongue across your bottom lip before he let you go, touching his forehead to yours. You opened your eyes, confused that he had cut off. He kept his hands against your skin, his fingers tangled in your hair and thumbs rubbing your chin. You felt 16 again, the excitement of a kiss still fluttering in your stomach. But now, the fluttering was merely a reminder of pain. His eyes scanned yours before he sighed slowly through his nose. 

 

“You had better come back,” he whispered to you, his voice hoarse. 

 

“Or else what? You’ll ride Titan Eren in like a horse and have this battle cry for your damsel in distress?” you asked, your dry humour making him crack the slightest smile. It was enough for you.

 

You licked your already dry lips nervously, before blurting out, “You know I love you, right?”

 

But it was only in your mind. In reality, you merely gave his hand a slight touch and turned away silently, walking away from him. A man you had given your whole heart to with no regrets. And yet, you just couldn’t shake off this nagging little suspicion that you should have said what you didn’t. Or kissed him back a little more.

 

There was your regret.


	17. Français [17]

“And I bit him, just like that! Called him a douchebag and ran away — never saw my first boyfriend since.”

 

“Ruthless from the start, I see.”

 

You laughed, your mood carefree. You leaned back with a smile. Oh, the feeling of being carefree. It was hard to come by now that you were a fully licensed member of the Recon Corps. Work, work, get your ass scraped bloody by a titan, more work… sometimes you forgot why you were here. 

 

Rivaille changed that. He made you smile. Laugh stupidly. You didn’t know why you were so damn attracted to the person you hated the moment you set eyes on him. But it was there, and you hated yourself for it. But you also had to force yourself to turn your head away nonchalantly whenever you caught yourself staring at him.

 

“My mother always used to think every girl I looked at was my love. I was 8, and she’d be making kissy faces at me and giving me lessons in French.”

 

“Just for the ladies? Why, you’ll have to hit home with me on that.” you winked at Rivaille who promptly rolled his eyes, his favourite thing to do around you. You took a deep breath and sighed. You pushed back your potato soup, your appetite suddenly lost. You knew why but chose to ignore the sinking feeling, but Rivaille noticed all the same.

 

“You okay?”

 

You shrugged, now feeling like you had to come clean. You looked around for safety precautions, but it wasn’t like any other 18 year old was going to be in a military mess hall eating disgusting soup. Besides, the secret strip bar was down the hall. 

 

“My mother… did I ever tell you about her?”

 

“Died from the plague.” He took it upon himself to clean your bowl for you, sloppily slurping it down. He raised his eyebrows knowingly, waiting for you to continue.

 

“Well… she didn’t really die. From that, that is. Um…” Why were you so nervous? This was Rivaille. You’d confided with him in some things a bit stranger than something like this. You took a deep breath, willing it not to be shaky, and then continued. “Some kid… he was running past. Knocked over a cart. She, uh, got crushed under it. Didn’t even live long enough to say any last words. I never got to know who it was. I’ll never get closure.” You sounded like you were blurting out the words, and instantly felt relieved once you had. But not enough to escape that guilty claw scraping at your guts.

 

You scoffed bitterly, reaching for the cheap mug of beer Rivaille had brought for you. You didn’t even notice Rivaille’s darkening expression. Why?

 

He knew. He had known all along your mother hadn’t died of plague. 

 

He was that kid.

 

He was going to tell you eventually. Apologize and spit it out, maybe with a nice bouquet of flowers. That sinking feeling in his stomach — the prickling he felt in his palms and the sudden sweating finally broke him.

 

“I killed her.”

 

You looked at him, your eyebrows high. You laughed, taking another swig. “You couldn’t have.”

 

“N-no. Listen to me. I knocked over the cart while running from soldiers. They-they were going to hang me, and I was clumsy…”

 

You furrowed your brows together, the smile on your face fading away. “You killed my mother.” Your voice was still uncertain and quiet. It hurt more than if you would just yell at him — because he could feel your trust in him breaking. 

 

“I know. [Name], I’m sorry—”

 

“Did you know even know it was her?!” your voice became raised and he saw the fury flame up in your eyes. He flinched away from you, unable to keep his gaze. You gave a small noise of indignant disbelief, slamming your palms on the table and leaning back away from him while shaking your head. He waited for you to say more; yet you remained silent. 

 

“[Name]?” he asked hoarsely. Your eyes had glossed over with your rigid jaw — you had to say something. Anything.

 

“All this… all this goddamn time. You could’ve manned up _any_ time. But nope, decide to take advantage of my emotions? Maybe think you’d get off the hook easier?”

 

He didn’t want to see you angry. In fact, the guilt he thought would lessen only worsened. He almost felt like vomiting now. “No, I didn’t—“

 

“Hey, Rivaille. I know some French too!” you sneered at him, getting to your feet. He stood to follow you before you put a hand up. He halted. 

 

“Au revoir,” you hissed. 

 

You left quickly; leaving him with an imaginary slap that hurt a million times more than you could have actually done.


	18. Catch Me and Hold My Heart [18]

\--Past--

You had ignored Rivaille for more than a week now. 

 

He had talked to your friends: Zoe, the young Petra, that weird gang that lingered by you — and yet none of them could help him find you. He didn’t know how you could hide so well when you were on the same mission. You managed to find a tree to slip behind or a task to accomplish every time he approached. Quite frankly, he was getting tired of trying to make amends to you.

 

He scowled to himself. He could understand that it stung to know that he, a person you confided in for all these years, was the one who stole your mother’s life. And by an accident, too. You probably hated him. He understood. But the very least you could do was accept his damn apology! 

 

Well, he couldn’t take anymore time thinking about you. He had papers to file, and besides, he knew you’d steal his attention away from those soon enough. He sighed and got to his feet, swinging himself out of the chair and slouching while he walked. He could almost feel you slapping his back, scolding him to ‘straighten up or I’ll break your spine to do it for you!’

 

He found himself smiling sadly with a straightened posture. 

 

He immediately frowned again, returning to a slow saunter. Why did he care so much about you? Sure, there had been that hand-holding thing, but he should have gotten over you. He didn’t have to care about anybody. It would only get him hurt. 

 

He felt pretty hurt.

 

He felt like punching the mosaic that allowed filtered light beside him. It depicted two soldiers — worn, bleary and battered — yet standing over a titan with their swords bloody. Specks that were people lit up around them, beautiful ochre glass symbolizing celebration. His lips twitched. Could he even begin to hope that he’d be one of those people?

 

The soldier’s heads were clear. He peered through them only to double –take — there you were! Sitting in the woman’s eye, perched in an aging oak tree that bent slightly under your weight. He raced around the corner, keeping his gaze on you so that you wouldn’t vanish.

 

You didn’t seem to notice his coming before he called your name, panting heavily. Your face, which had been peaceful as could be, contorted into an angry scowl. 

 

“Oh, you found me. Surprise.”

 

Rivaille straightened his back. “I have.”

 

You kicked your foot, letting it swing limply. You started to sneer, your lips turning upwards into a crooked grin you only used when you had harsh intentions. “It’s not like you can get me, right? You’re _scared_ of heights without your precious 3DMG. Well, I don’t think anything is precious to you anymore.” Rivaille flinched. That was definitely harsh. 

 

“I’m scared of heights,” he admitted with finality. You merely gave a short laugh. 

 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 

He grit his teeth before running his hand over the bark. It was smooth — he wasn’t sure how the hell you had managed to shimmy yourself up.

 

Fuck it. 

 

“Whoa, wait. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

He clawed into the bark, his fingernails whining with protest. He merely bit down on his tongue and pulled himself up, grasping onto thin branches in the hopes it might help. You were watching him with a face that was agape like a surprised dog’s ass. The analogy made him feel slightly better.

 

Before he even knew it, he was wobbling on the same branch you sat at. Don’t look down. 

Well, he looked down and nearly cried.

 

He forced himself to raise his head back at you, who had managed to collect your composure and put on a steely face. He sat on the branch and pulled himself towards you. You didn’t move but visibly tensed when he drew nearer. 

 

“So what are you going to say to me?”

 

He hesitated. He didn’t really know what to say at all. What could he do…

 

He leaned forwards and kissed you. 

 

“The _fuck_?” you shrieked, attempting to push him away from you. Normally he would have jumped out of the tree in shame, but something made him feel like he _needed_ to touch you — hold you, feel you. He grabbed the collar of your tan jacket and pulled you closer to him, his forehead bumping against yours. He was thinking the same thing you screamed so politely in his ear but decided not to think about it, only focusing on the steadily warmer heat your face gave off and the feeling of your rough lips that tasted like cherries against his.

 

Eventually (and to his surprise) you gave in quickly, allowing your lips to part. He slid his tongue across your teeth, and you bit his lower lip almost seductively. You leaned forwards more, scooting yourself closer to him, running your hand up his arm and into his hairline. How did you manage to pull his hair in all the right places? You abruptly stopped before he could go further and pulled away, rubbing your mouth like you were embarrassed and needed to scrub traces of him away.

 

“I’m sorry, [Name],” he told you. Sorry for what, he didn’t know, but decided he was sorry for all the screw-ups he did to you. “Please, I’m…”

 

“I… I don’t know…” your quiet reply made him raise an eyebrow. Your eyes darted around nervously and you covered your mouth with both hands, a trait he had noticed you only did when extremely stressed. “I don’t know how I feel.”

 

You inhaled sharply before removing your hands and clutching the branch, your knuckles slowly turning white with the pressure. You bit your lip, “If you hadn’t killed my mother, my father would have been sane… An-And if he hadn’t broken, I wouldn’t have had to be here at all. I’ve seen so many people die… I’ve almost died…”

 

Rivaille waited patiently, not even daring against the tension to breathe. 

 

Your breaths were shaky now, and he even saw your arms begin to tremble. “I love you, Rivaille. Oh my God, I love you.”

 

He was taken aback by your words. Out of all the things you could have said, ‘I love you?’

 

You were crying now, tears slowly slipping down your cheeks before they streamed, your sniffling growing louder. You were hiccupping yet was trying to force words through anyways. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t…I don’t know what…”

 

“You don’t have to rely on others for your own feelings,” Rivaille finally managed to mutter through a cracking voice. He couldn’t bear to look at you any longer, averting his gaze to the ground that looked far below but in reality was only a couple of meters. The grass waved lazily, like a sea of yellow and fading green.

 

“Then what do _I_ do?”

 

“You do whatever you want to do. Don’t listen to me or anybody else.”

 

You rubbed your eyes, still hiccupping. It seemed to be dying down, so he decided to leave you with privacy. He pushed his nerves away and leapt from the branch onto the ground, bending his knees with a quiet _crack_. He brushed off his pants and was about to set off without looking back before you called his name in a timid voice that made his heart still for a few seconds. 

 

He turned, biting his tongue to control any horrifyingly stupid outbursts. “Yeah?”

 

He waited for you to say something emotional or thoughtful, but instead you held your arms out like you wanted a hug. “I can’t get down. Catch me.”


	19. Ring around the Rosie [19]

You sighed, shivering as you pulled your cloak around yourself tightly. It had only been autumn yesterday — where did the leaves all go? All remnants of warmth seemed to have pack up overnight, leaving frigid temperatures that turned your breath to fog. You looked up into the sky as little puffs of snow started to rain down from the milky white sky, melting on contact of your skin. You caught one on your leather rein and admired the crystalline spikes and cuts. Nature would always be beautiful, no matter how devastating everything ravaged around it. You blew on it and watched it melt. Everything was trivial to the movement of the Earth. 

 

You sighed again — longer and louder — placing a hand on your stomach. Couldn’t the Earth halt its cruel metronome for one little person?

 

Was it a girl? Would you teach her how to cover her tracks when the ‘time’ came, and encourage her to approach her first crush? Would you cook dinner for her boyfriend as he shyly waved from across the courtyard?

 

Was it a boy? Would you watch as he went and played with Rivaille, always ranting about how he wanted to be the ‘War Hero’? Would you make sandwiches for the two and pat his head? Pinch his ear and force him to go apologize to the young girl he probably offended?

 

What would you name her? After yourself? Zoe? Your mother? Rivaille’s mother? 

 

Him? Rivaille? Eren? Irvin? Would you follow your own heritage or Rivaille’s French?

 

Where would you buy a house? By the river, maybe. You could take the kids fishing. Or maybe by the forest, where you could lead them to hikes through the trees and teach them how to climb. Maybe you would live on a plain and take up a life of farming.

 

What career would you pursue after the military? Would you even be able to _leave_ the military?

 

You moaned aloud and let your head fall against your horse’s mane to physically knock the thoughts out of your head. He whinnied, annoyed, as if saying ‘Shut up woman, I don’t care.’ 

 

“Thanks, bud,” you whispered to him sarcastically. You blew air through your lips, letting them ripple against each other. “I don’t know what the hell to do. I don’t think I ever will. I wish you could tell me…” you blinked and then rubbed your forehead. Confiding into an irritable horse for your pregnancy troubles. Great.

 

A gust of wind blew open your cloak. You frowned, annoyed. You had just buttoned it shut. With further inspection you noticed that the button and clasp had been broken clean off. You groaned aloud again. “That took me three coins to fix!”

 

Determined not to have wasted those three copper coins, you hopped off your horse and spied the riddled dirt road. You crawled around your horse like some sort of deranged crab, spying underneath his hooves and upturning pebbles. You scrambled around, reassuring yourself you would move on once you turned over that last rock. Then that one. Then around that tree. 

 

Your horse whinnying urgently broke you out of your frenzied stupor. You absentmindedly grunted, running your hands through the long grass like a comb. “What is it…?” Was he constipated again? 

 

Before you could even think about how you would fix that problem, a hand jostled you from behind and grabbed you by the hips. Instincts kicked in — you formed your hand into a fist and was about to hurl your elbow backwards before somebody _else_ caught your hands and pinned them above your head. Heavy breathing filled your ears. Was this a rape?!

 

You were about to scream of your condition and pretend you had a chronic and infectious disease before a face loomed in front of you. Your heart flickered.

 

It was just another child.

 

Embarrassed that a teenager had gotten the upper hand of you, you squirmed with all your built-up strength. You felt the hands on your sides loosen somewhat. Of course — the dagger in your belt! You concentrated on moving your hands before the familiar and sickening feeling of cool steel pressed against the centimeter of exposed stomach when your shirt had ridden up. You froze.

 

“You don’t want to do that, do you?” the female one cooed, her blue eyes flaring with something like excitement. You shivered internally. Something in her cold voice made you feel uneasy. 

 

You quit moving. You knew she wouldn’t hesitate to stab you and your unborn child if you hadn’t. 

 

“Bertholdt, what’s taking so long? What are you, a dog?” A gruffer, male voice sounded from behind you. He must be the one holding your hands. You strained your head to look up, only catching a glimpse of another tan jacket. Two — no, _three_ traitors. Your blood was boiling but you bit your tongue down. The stakes were too high for a bit of patriotism. 

 

Think. You know those names. You let yourself relax and kept your eyes open, instead focusing hard on the one branch above you that had a wilted brown leaf still hanging on. Bertholdt. You couldn’t recall anything, nor did you get any hints. Then, there was Gruff guy, lots of strength. 

 

You had jack shit.

 

As you were trying to recover faces, you saw the girl pull the dagger from your belt. You scowled, and she tucked it away. You were more defenseless than ever, now. You wished you had come across a titan. At least you could have been prepared. At least you already knew the routine.

 

These children had burnt their humanity along with every bit of predictability they could have possessed any time before.

 

“The horse was loaded with stuff,” a meeker voice finally replied from a distance away. Bertholdt… where have you heard that before? _Who are you?_ you thought furiously, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. 

 

The bag of supplies that had been on the horse’s saddle was dumped beside you, but much too far to reach without having to crawl over. You swore as you saw that your blades weren’t there. You watched as they were handed to the girl. You then realized the blades were bloody and what that meant to your faithful horse. You felt a pang of horror. His last thought was to have warned you.

 

“What’s this?” Gruff Guy seemed to be gesturing at something in the sacks, his hands still kept tightly around yours. You tried gently to wriggle them out in his lapse of concentration, but even without effort he was like a pair of iron clasps around your wrists. 

 

“What?” the girl’s voice was sharp and brief. She lifted the blade from your stomach, letting you sigh in relief before she stepped on your knees. You whimpered as you heard a crack under her boot with tendrils of pain flaring in your kneecaps, but she didn’t even look down at you. She didn’t even have enough pity to watch her victim suffer. You grit your teeth as she crossed her arms. “What is it, Reiner?’

 

“It looks like an envelope. Could it be helpful?”

 

Bertholdt withdrew your official letter of introduction from Irvin Smith and handed it to the girl. She broke the seal without even sparing it a second glance, dropping the blank envelope onto the ground where it blew away immediately. She read it over before shrugging and pocketing it. 

 

“Nothing new,” she replied. She crouched while still balanced upon your knees — and you couldn’t even move them enough to make her tip over. She stared into your eyes like a hawk, her flat face studious like watching an experiment grow. “We know her stupid widdle name already…” she paused for a second, as if collecting thoughts carefully, “and we know about her _stupid widdle baby_.”

 

Your heart skipped a couple of beats. How? _How?_

 

They must have gotten to your doctor. You felt another pang of guilt. What had they done to him to get that information? The poor man. He had done nothing. Yet he was probably dead for his children to find.

 

Eren, the only other person couldn’t have been accessed. He was too under protection by Rivaille —

 

Your heart was thrown into an erratic frenzy of panic. Rivaille. You hadn’t even considered the fact something could have happened to him. Did they get to him, too? Was he all right? Dead? 

 

He must be fine, you forced yourself to believe. Only because he has to be. 

 

There wouldn’t be another option. 

 

“Annie, I’m getting tired. Hurry up.” Gruff Guy was complaining above you, but his hands were still rigid. A sort of whisper of a memory drifted past you, though when you tried to grasp hold of it, it merely skittered away as if shy. 

 

Rey. Rey what?

 

Annie. Bertholdt. Rey…

 

“Reiner, will you shut up? I’m getting to it.”

 

Reiner Braun. Bertholdt Hoover.

 

Sasha Blause. Connie Springer. Krista Lenz. Ymir. Mikasa Ackerman. Armin Arlert.

 

Eren Jaegar. 

 

The new recruits of the Recon Corps.

 

It felt as if a brother had just kicked you to the ground before punching you in the gut. 

 

You didn’t even notice. You welcomed them with open arms. You had smiled at Reiner, reached up on your tippy-toes to pat Bertholdt on the back. What had you done?

 

Your horror seemed to show, since Annie started to smile. It spread like disease across her face until she looked just like a titan, grinning over you like she wanted a snack rather than a meal. 

 

“Here, this is going to make it all better,” she said, pulling something out of a box that was in her jacket. It was a syringe. She tapped it experimentally, and you watched with ultimate terror as it spurted out with a horrifyingly murky brown liquid. You didn’t even brace yourself when she stabbed it deep into your neck. You squirmed away from the alien feeling, but Reiner’s brace around you forced you to stay put. You moaned aloud when she pulled it away from you, carefully tucking it back into the box instead of throwing it aside like garbage. A thick pulse seemed to emanate from where she had pierced your skin, and it started to spread throughout your body. You could feel it in your blood.

 

Reiner let go of your forearms only to grab your hands. Realizing this could be your break, you manoeuvred away from him to Annie where you grabbed the blades dangling from her hands and slashed her throat. You jumped onto Bertholdt’s back before doing the same, his bones grinding against the blade and sending a crack rippling up the delicate steel. You ended it by breaking the blade in Reiner’s stomach and watching him bleed slower than the others, careening into the ground and gasping for breath.

 

At least, you tried to. 

 

Despair spread along with the tar through your body when you tried to move your hips only to be accompanied by agonizing pain. It felt like you were being stabbed a million times, and then being cauterized by the heat of the sun. Your eyes swivelled in your skull with panic. When you blinked, you almost wanted to scream. But that would make it hurt even more.

 

What monsters would use this drug?

 

“Are you sure that’s safe? She is after all… _pregnant_ …” Bertholdt finally spoke up, though his timid voice only brought you more hatred. He pointed at you as if you were a poor animal. 

 

“Who cares? I don’t even remembered why the Master wants _her_ instead of somebody like the shortie Lance Corporal, or the crazy coo-coo commander.”

 

Her disgraceful words of your husband and superior made you want to lunge and strangle her, where you could feel the life flow out of her and into you. But you couldn’t even blink without tears slipping out of your eyes and pain ravaging your body. You settled for the harshest glare you could manage without moving. She didn’t even notice, shrugging light-heartedly and gesturing behind her. “Go get the stuff, and carry her to the cart. Remember to tie the blanket _tightly_ this time, yeah?”

 

“I’m not your slave,” Reiner grumbled, but obeyed nonetheless. He and Bertholdt swung your supplies over their shoulders before grabbing your limbs and jerking you upwards like a stick. You let out a gurgle of pain as they yanked your body upwards and ruthlessly. They dragged you so low that your head hit the rocks and your hair was mopping the dirt. They didn’t even seem to notice. They hauled you out to an enormous supplies cart that you didn’t even know was following you. How stupid were you not to?

 

As he threw you onto the splintering wood, you noticed it wasn’t a supplies cart at all but one to haul dead bodies in. You nearly vomited as a corpse missing half their face seemed to wink at you, their bruised skin sagging. 

 

“Bertholdt, Reiner! You forgot a bag, you idiots!”

 

Annie’s voice rung out like the most annoyed bell in the world. The two boys exchanged looks before sighing, and trudged back as if it had happened one-too-many times before, leaving you exposed and alone.

 

You knew Rivaille would come looking for you. You had to leave a sign. What? 

 

Your cloak would be too obvious. A strand of hair was much too stupid — that only worked in romance novels. You heard them coming back. What could you do? 

 

The three kids came into distant view, standing in a ring and pointing fingers at each other. Your eyelids closed without your permission, bringing forks of pain rocking through your body.

 

A ring?

 

_"Don't you think these traditions nowadays are kind of stupid?"_

_"Hm?" you asked. You were too busy admiring the ring Rivaille had given you, staring over at it at every angle and twisting it around finger to stare it more. "Sorry?"_

_"The_ Ring _," he said, slight more irritable than usual, waving a hand in front of your face. You blinked and looked up._

_"_ I _like it," you said, sounding hurt. You gestured at the one on Rivaille's hand, before looking away sheepishly. You were about to turn the ring on your finger before you forced yourself not to, clasping them together instead. "I mean, if you don't then you're not obliged to wear it... like, I'm not going to kill you or anything..."_

_Rivaille quieted you by pressing his palm to your mouth, something he had gotten into the habit of recently. "No, you idiot. The_ ring. _" He pointed with his free hand to a circle of young children stood in a circle in the shade of the trees a few meters over. They couldn't have been much older than 8 years old, yet they were cheering on two fellow elementary schoolers of the same age as they sucked each others faces off. You made a slight face, recovering from the bout of depression you were about to go under when you thought Rivaille was referring to your wedding rings._

_"What are they_ doing _?" you asked, turning away from the scene disgustedly. Rivaille let put an exaggerated sigh._

_"It's the new thing with kids. Apparently, if you get enough people to stand in a circle, or “The Ring”, and witness you kiss, you'll be together forever." Rivaille's sneer was sarcastically jovial, but you chuckled to yourself._

_"This old man knows more about the new trends than I do?" you joked. He rolled his eyes, before leaning over and cupping your chin with his lean fingers. You swallowed abruptly, nearly choking on the sip of tea you were trying to drink. You always forgot how suddenly romantic he would be — because you were far used to seeing an always irritable man who hardly knew how to shut up._

_"Why would you ever think I wouldn't appreciate_ our _ring? God, you can be so stupid," he muttered in a lowered voice._

_"Gee, I feel so reassured of you attachments to me."_

_Rivaille leaned forwards to kiss you, but you pushed him away gasping. "Oh my gosh, that kid just jumped off the tree!" You ran away to go assist the child writhing in pain, leaving Rivaille fuming that an idiot would get more attention from you than he did._

_"I fucking hate kids," he grumbled, surprising the waitress in earshot._

 

The ring. Of course!

 

You could hear the trio bickering over something, but it was distant enough for you to feel safe. You twitched your left ring finger gingerly, only to nearly scream with the bitter pain that shot through you. Wait type of drugs were these? What type of humans would use this? It hurt your entire body, making your teeth ache and your eyeballs pulse. You grit your teeth before exhaling slowly. The circle was going to become undone soon, and you’d be doomed.

 

With a prayer that Rivaille would find it, you used all the strength in your body and then some to bring your limp hand to your left, where you wormed the tight band off and rolled it off the edge. Your entire body shook and trembled. You did everything you could not to make a noise. How much longer did this take? Why wasn’t it coming off yet? Bertholdt glanced in your direction and you stopped. You were panting now. Could you even make it — ?

 

A dull thump told you it did the job. 

 

You passed out in peace.

 

Now, there was always a speculation that siblings and parents could feel their kin's pain or life. You had always joked with Rivaille that there was a connection between the two of you, and when you were in trouble you'd be sending for your prince in rusting armor. He had told you that you were dumb, but as he felt his left arm twitch randomly and a throb of pain in his heart, a seed of doubt began to grow.


	20. I'm Not [20]

Panic can’t ever be described.

 

The sudden pounding of the heart as it drives blood to the legs and arms. Animalistic. Preparing for survival or death. There’s the constant roaring in your ears that seems to suck your breath away. The feeling that your eyes are going to fall out of your skull while black spots dance in your vision to distract you.

 

Then there’s the _fear_.

 

Rivaille forced himself to walk at a moderate pace as not to attract the attention of his peers. But he knew he was dying inside, screaming at himself to run and get his ass over to Erwin’s office. You were missing. And it didn’t matter how many people told him you were just running late — he didn’t believe a single syllable of it. You needed his help. 

 

The only thing that bothered him about that was if you would be able to accept it when he got to you. 

 

He tried to throw open the wooden door, but it was locked. A low growl of frustration he could hardly even recognize escaped from his lips as he threw himself at the door. He was shrieking for Erwin. Desperate, banshee like cries. Open the door. Open the door.

 

Erwin did, backing up with a pale face as Rivaille stormed inside. He looked around once, the fireplace crackling in the corner firing up his nerves even more. He was enjoying a life of luxury when you could be dying somewhere! Maybe you _were_ dead!

 

He refused to even acknowledge the possibility even as it whispered to him from a far. Images of you clutching your heart as you bled at the ground or screaming his name for help when he wasn’t there only served to make his heart feel like it would burst in his chest.

 

“Where is she?” he snarled. His hands clenched themselves into fist, trembling at his side. “Where is she, Erwin?!”

 

Erwin sat at his seat in a calm manner. He didn’t even look at him, merely gesturing towards the chair in front of the sturdy wooden desk. Rivaille gave a howl of anger and began to pace in the room, pulling at the cloak around him so harshly he could feel the fabric tear under his fingertips. Only when Erwin spoke did he stop.

 

“I believe… that [Name] has been abducted on the path.” his face was perfectly calm, his fingers folded on the stack of papers he had been working on previously. 

 

“You _believe_?” Rivaille tried to yell, but it turned to a soft whisper of disbelief instead. “You _believe_.”

 

“Rivaille, you know full well that [Name] is the strongest woman we have on our force; I’m sure she’ll be able to — ”

 

“ _You have no fucking idea!_ ” the screech he had been searching for before came out in a constant crescendo. He was panting now — his entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Erwin winced at his tone. “You — ! You wouldn’t know! How could you? How!”

 

“What?” Erwin’s voice was brief and demanding as always. Always a fucking commander. Always so fucking heartless. Oh, but Rivaille could hear the slightest echo of concern. 

 

“She was carrying _my_ child, and you had the nerve to send her out alone. A child! _Our_ child!”

 

Rivaille finally collapsed upon the chair, burying his face into the palms of his hands. He clutched his hairline, pulling at it so that the pain could keep him anchored to reality. He felt on the verge of reaching forwards and strangling Erwin — but he knew it wouldn’t do any good to help you. All he could do was sit in the chair and wait. 

 

“My god,” Erwin murmured after a long silence. The realization seemed to make the air physically heavy as Erwin rubbed his temples. “My god.”

 

“She could be dead. Dying.” Rivaille’s voice was more final than it should’ve been. Erwin seemed to notice and spoke again, his voice wavering.

“She’s strong, Rivaille. She can make it, even… even if she’s…”

 

“Pregnant and vulnerable? Yeah.”

 

“She’s _strong_.” Rivaille could tell that was the only way Erwin could try and make Rivaille feel better. He appreciated it somewhat, but it did nothing to ease the ache. He clawed at the ring on his finger, grasping onto it as if it would tell him if you were alright or not.

 

“Do you even know what love is, Erwin?” Rivaille’s tone was surprisingly calm despite the turmoil inside of him. Erwin was silent, his icy blue stare void of any emotion. Rivaille let out a sigh — a normal sigh as if he’d been inconvenienced — and let his head droop backwards. His voice was hoarse.

 

“ _She_ may be strong, but I’m not.

 

I’m not strong.”


	21. Offspring [21]

Pain.

 

That was all you could feel — know, understand. You didn’t remember your name. How old were you? Weren’t you married or something? Who were you?

 

All you felt was pain that felt as if glass shards had been dumped into your bloodstream, nicking at your insides with every pump of the heart. Magma flared inside of you and burnt at your guts, a place you couldn’t hold. Your brain was thick and fuzzy and could only moan with protest. You wanted it to stop. You wanted so badly for everything to stop.

 

Something penetrated your neck, a cold relief from the agonizing pins-and-needles attacking your muscles like knives. The icy feeling spread throughout your body until you found you could breathe again. Your entire body relaxed, flopping down onto whatever ground you lay upon. It was a while before you opened your eyes.

 

You were in an empty field surrounded by trees. It seemed somewhat familiar: the smell of the grass and the feel of the cool wind against your cheek. You couldn’t pinpoint why. You rolled yourself onto your back, elation filling you when you realized you could. Freedom had finally been given back to your body. 

 

“You always slept strangely. You scrunch your nose up. It’s quite cute, wouldn’t you say?”

 

You didn’t recognize the voice. You ignored it for a while, processing what words and syllables even were as you recovered memories. Your name. Rivaille. The child.

 

Oh god.

 

Your eyes shot open like you’d been shocked, and your muscles propelled you upwards onto your fours within a millisecond. Those three kids — your kidnapping! 

 

“Come on, you’re not a dog. Stand up like a proper woman.”

 

The voice was edging you on. It had a dark tone to it, like he was on the edge of hysteria. You obeyed, pulling yourself to your feet. It seemed like a miracle that you could even stand; your muscles lost the regained strength immediately and you were left swaying. You raised your head.

 

“Who’re you?” your voice was slurred, but you chewed on your tongue to snap some feeling back into it. You cleared your throat and clenched your hands into fists, allowing your chipped nails to dig deep into your flesh to bring you back to life. “Who. Are. You?”

 

“Aw, you don’t remember me? I’m _sooo_ offended.” The man was sitting upon a throne that was carved into the tree. It was simple — rather just a hole in the tree where rot or fire had ate away at the thick wood. He wore a skin you couldn’t identify. It had no luscious fur or appeal of any sort. In fact, it looked eerily like human leather. You ignored the creeping disgust in your throat and forced yourself to look at his eyes. They were familiar but it was just on the edge of your memories, dancing out of reach whenever you struggled to catch them. He spoke your name with comfort, making you grit your teeth. 

 

“How do you know me?” you demanded. You reeled back a step. Something about him wasn’t right. 

 

“Why, a man should be able to recognize his own offspring. No matter how weak or disgusting.”

 

Offspring?

 

Eyes. Irises that were greener than a leaf in spring; nose pointed and sharp like yours. That rigid jaw with dots of dark stubble. That awkward side sweep of his hair that reminded you of your own.

 

“Dad?”

 

He seemed satisfied, smiling without showing teeth and nodding once. You stepped back even more. You knew your eyes were widening with horror and your mouth was agape. You knew you were just giving him the satisfaction of watching you gasp for breath. But you couldn’t stop it.

 

“ _Father_ , dear. Did you forget all your manners?”

 

“Manners? You’re supposed to be fucking _dead_!” your shrill echoed around the foliage, bouncing back to you once before dissipating away. You pointed an accusatory finger at your father — his frame muscular and healthy. He looked nothing like the swinging body you had found in the living room. The sunken face you threw dirt over and laid flowers upon. He wasn’t supposed to exist any longer.

 

He merely tuttered at your harsh language, shaking his head as if disappointed, “I thought you were so much smarter than this. But, you finished second as a cadet. I suppose I should’ve known you were only second-rate.”

 

“How do you know about that? How do you know about me! I thought you were dead for _twenty_ damn years! I buried you! I fucking dug your fucking grave beside Mom!” You were shaking, your voice cracking with emotion. If it was anger or fear you couldn’t quite tell, but you knew for sure you hated this man. Hated him for leaving you alone in such a cruel world, hated him for not being able to witness your happiest moments and hating him for never being there. The only justice you had given him was being dead. And he was alive the entire time? “You coward! You coward! You — ”

 

“Shush, my dear. You don’t want to get your heart rate too high up. Wouldn’t want anything happening to my lovely grandchild, yes?”

 

Your heart seemed to stop in your chest as your arm dropped to your side. “You _know_ about that?” you asked quietly. 

 

“I know all about Rivaille and your little baby. I know all about you,” he sneered. The last word was heavy, like he was foreshadowing something. You waited for him to speak again — explain more, but he didn’t. Anger boiled up inside of you once more.

 

“Tell me everything. Right now,” you demanded. You needed it. You felt tears dripping down your face and despised yourself for being pathetic, but you never once broke eye contact with a man you had called a demon so many times. He shrugged.

 

“You wouldn’t believe how little money you can pay a person to hang themselves for you. I had twenty dozens of hideous creatures, all begging at my knees to accept two coins to take their neck at a noose!” he guffawed heartily as if sharing a normal story about fishing, and how he’d caught the largest bass of them all. You were left furious again, trembling and just managing to hold yourself back from scaling the tree and throttling him ‘till he died.

 

“That was you, though. I saw your face. I saw it,” you tried to yell. It emerged as a vulnerable whimper, one of disbelief and denial.

 

“Ever heard of hair dye and doppelgangers?” 

 

You let out a harsh scream you’d been holding in the entire time. You finally dropped back to your knees, clutching your hair. When you quieted he continued on as if nothing had happened at all, twirling his finger in the air.

 

“Your mother’s death was actually very convenient. Nobody doubts a soldier who mourns the loss of his wife and just can’t handle it anymore.” He made a cheery clicking sound while drawing a thumb across his neck, a grin spreading across his face like disease as he chortled to himself. “That bitch never suspected a thing.”

 

“Don’t you dare call her… call her…” you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it.

 

“A bitch?”

 

You inhaled shakily. The slight remnants of your soldier’s instincts that had been smothered with rage told you to shut up and be quiet, so you did. You merely bowed your head in front of him and continued to focus on breathing. He was quiet, waiting for you to speak. 

 

He seems to realize you weren’t going to protest anymore and sighed as if disappointed in a failed experiment. You heard him shifting in his seat but didn’t dare to meet his sick eyes again. They reminded you of poison.

 

“You wouldn’t believe the life I’ve had while you ran off to pursue the military. I control Titans. I’ve discovered the secret. Do you know why those three children work for me?”

 

You were silent despite the storm of questions and protests building up behind your mental dam.

 

“Because they can shift into titans, just like your Eren. I have granted them power, because I am the new god.” He paused to relish in your silent shock, before twiddling his fingers together like an evil toddler, “in fact, Annie is off right now to intercept your expedition that’ll be coming up.”

 

You finally broke and snapped your head up. “What?”

 

Your Father looked annoyed to repeat himself, but did with a smug grin. “Big, scary titan. Kill people. Kill Rivaille. Kidnap Eren.”

 

Your heart begged to break out of your chest. 

 

“I won’t let you — !” you screamed, fury taking over your logic. You sprung to your feet only to have somebody grab you from behind like before, throwing you to the ground. You gasped, the air physically forced out of your lungs. You curled up into a ball and held your stomach, which began to ache. 

 

When you looked up, you saw your father looming over you with a smile only a Titan could match. He placed a boot upon your shoulder and pressed down, ignoring your screams of agony as he slowly pushed it out of its socket. Flames seemed to rush up and down your nerves as you pawed desperately at his legs with your other hand. 

 

“Take her away.”

 

You felt somebody take your injured arm and yanked on it, sending spots along your eyesight.

 

The last image you saw was your Father waving goodbye.


	22. A Failure [22]

It was a long silence before Rivaille could speak again. When he did, he saw his superior’s shoulders relax as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

 

“Why’d you send her anyways?”

 

“She was available.”

 

“Available? _That’s_ what you think of her?!” Rivaille’s voice rose before he could control it, and he found himself drawing blood from his palm with his fingernails. He took a deep breath and rubbed the red along his cloak, allowing it to become stained. Erwin noticed but didn’t say anything.

 

“Like I said,” he replied in a terse tone after a moment of contemplation, “it was only supposed to be a simple two-way trip to a trusted camp and back. I never expected that anybody would want to kidnap a woman… like her.”

 

Rivaille couldn’t argue. It was justified, which only made him angrier. Instead he asked, “what information was she sent to gather?” 

 

Erwin seemed to be about to object, but Rivaille shook his head ever so slightly before he could. He deserved it. Erwin grimaced before nodding once.

 

“There were very strong… rumours about a man who had discovered the secrets of titans. The camp had bargained a deal to exchange information as long as it was on their terms — ”

 

“And you never suspected that it’d be a fraud?” Rivaille’s voice was harsh again, and a deep instinct within him purred in satisfaction when Erwin flinched. “How stupid _are_ you?”

 

Erwin didn’t reply nor seem to react to the cruel words, but a tendon twitched n his neck. Rivaille didn’t even care.

 

When Erwin didn’t reply a swell of anger burst inside Rivaille’s stomach. It unleashed a rage that he never knew he held as he lunged forwards, taking hold of Erwin’s collar and delivering a sharp hook to his jaw. No, he always had this monstrous instinct. He had just forgotten it.

 

When he was young, he had failed his assassination. Now while he was older, he just might do it.

 

Rivaille had expected some sort of resistance, but Erwin merely sat limply in Rivaille’s swing. He hadn’t even blinked. Rivaille’s fury should have grown but instead it faded — he felt shameful. He sunk back into his chair quietly but with a bitter air. He didn’t apologize as Erwin gingerly touched the new bruise on his pale skin. 

 

“Have I ever told you of my wife?” he abruptly asked.

 

Rivaille blinked. That was a quick change of subject. He curtly shook his head stiffly, desire to throttle the man acquiesced for now. 

 

“She was the love of my life, you know. She made my life seem brighter and everything less… mundane, like everything had a purpose. She — ”

 

“Made you feel more human? Made you feel like you were important and you had to do everything to protect this one person so you could let her experience happiness?” Rivaille’s tone was dull but the words were there from his heart. Erwin nodded thoughtfully, his bluer-than-blue eyes glazing over.

 

“She’s dead, now.”

 

Rivaille’s throat constricted. He should’ve been able to infer — the careful wording of past tense and the melancholy that had suddenly settled over the commander’s eyes like a cloud. He then realized the silence had grown awkward, but wasn’t quite sure of what to say. Death surrounded them every day like an eternal fog. He was used to just drawing his cloak shut and storming on through. Instead of blurting out dumb words like ‘I’m sorry’, he merely kept silent and bowed his head. He waited for Erwin to continue.

 

“And do you know what her last words were? What she did?” Erwin’s tone was suddenly sour, and Rivaille looked up to study his eyes. Erwin had turned to stare out the window behind his desk, but his shoulders were squared and had a slight twitch. 

 

“No.”

 

“She let herself be taken for me. I felt her… _die_ in my arms. Nothing stopped the bleeding…” Erwin was obviously struggling to find the right words, but no matter how stuttered his words were, Rivaille felt his pain. He took a deep sigh, still staring out the window and watching the stars twinkle high above. “I’m not even sure if she’s dead. I can only hope… but it’s been too long.”

 

Rivaille allowed Erwin mourn before finally asking the question wreaking havoc to his thoughts, “why are you telling me this?”

 

“Her last words were ‘I failed you’.”

 

Rivaille decided Erwin wasn’t listening to him any longer and was about to rise and leave, but Erwin beat him to it. The poor commander brushed past him to leave, and merely whispered into his ear in a voice only a broken man could duplicate,

 

“I wish you the greatest luck.”

 

Rivaille wasn’t sure if the older man was hinting that Rivaille might just join him in his bubble of hell.


	23. Yours Truly [23]

You are just about to wave goodbye to Zoe before she stops in her steps promptly, a grin spreading across her face. You raise an eyebrow questioningly, turning the delicate cup of tea on your platter.

 

“What’s up?” you ask her as she bounds back to the seat she had just abandoned, giggles bouncing off of her like she’s been morphed back into a toddler. 

 

“Rivaille’s waiting for you outside,” she sang, bursting into another fit of hysterics. Your face soured slightly.

 

“Are you _still_ teasing me about this? It’s been 3 years, Zo.”

 

“Hey, you both are the two cutest patooties in the squad! Now get out there and get yourself some booty, darling!”

 

You flushed at her words, slapping yourself in the face a couple of times in the hopes it would fade before you had to face your long-term boyfriend. She hooted at you a few more times, even going so far as to slap your ass as you left. 

 

You stepped out the café doors, turning back to meet Zoe’s excited brown eyes through the glass window. She gave you double thumbs up and made a kissy-face, making you turn away to ignore her. You approached the surliest looking man leaning against a post, his arms crossed.

 

“Hey,” you greeted, and he turned. His eyes flickered with light when he saw you, and you saw his lips twitch. 

 

“Hey,” he replied, taking your hand in his. You allowed his fingers to curl around yours before he started leading you somewhere without warning.

 

“Where are we going?” you yelped, managing to recover your balance and following his pace. He didn’t say anything but looked at the cloak you held in your free hand, then back at your face. He was grinning — a rare sight that you loved but also feared.

 

“Oh, come on. Really? Don't you dare blindfold me _now_ — okay, nevermind, we're doing this now.”

\---

“What the — ow!” you cursed internally as your toes was stubbed against something incredibly hard. Rivaille sucked at guiding people. 

 

“We’re here,” he said pleasantly, like a tour guide, “now get your butt up.”

 

“Up?” you asked, but he was already pushing you. You fell forwards — but thank the lords of Grace, you found a hold before you could face plant in front of the man you loved. You realized it was a tree you were palming pretty sexually and easily made your way up it, even while blind. 

 

You heard the slow crack of the branch as Rivaille settled in next to you, and light blinded your vision when he unexpectedly took off your makeshift blindfold. You let your eyes adjust for a moment before you realized where you were.

 

“You romantic little shit,” you whispered to yourself. 

 

It was the tree where you had first kissed. 

 

“One and only,” Rivaille said proudly. “Now close your eyes and tilt your head to the side.”

 

“Again?” you pretended to sigh but did as he asked. You felt his forehead bump against yours and your heart fluttered when he touched his lips to yours — you would never get over your stupid butterflies whenever he touched you.

 

The only other thing that surprised you was when he slipped something cold on your finger.

 

Your eyes shot open and you pulled away from him, staring at the new golden bland that seemed to glow in the darkening sunlight. You stared at him, who only had a thing smile to show. 

 

“Do I have a choice?” you asked weakly, the only thing you could muster from the squeals of glee and the wails of feeling threatening to explode from inside of you.

 

“Nah.”

 

“You asshole.”

 

“ _Your_ asshole.”

 

“That sounded wrong,” you chided, but you were giggling. He rolled his eyes but you leaned forwards to kiss him before he said anything, letting your gratefulness show through your lips.

 

Unfortunately, Rivaille forgot you were swaying on a tree branch and reached for your shirt aggressively only to accidentally shove you both off the perch. 

 

“You _asshole_!” you shrieked, tumbling into the grass.


	24. Happy Happy Happy Happy Happy [24]

“Rivaille, stop. Stop!”

 

Eren flinched as Hange attempted to quiet the screaming man. Her words might as well have been the Holy Lord’s Prayer to Rivaille’s ears for all it did. He struggled against her and his team’s arms, echoing a cry channelled from a banshee. Eren looked away shamefully.

 

“You monster! You monster!” was all he repeated, spitting on the shiny boots of the man he used to look up to and trust. “You fucking disgrace! _How dare you? How dare —_ ”

 

“I will say it again, Rivaille,” Erwin stated. Not ‘said’, or ‘reassured’. Stated. Eren shuddered at the harsh tone of the all-commanding man. Where was the heart? He found he couldn’t protest despite his wanting to, but Rivaille didn’t even spare him half a second’s glance. Those eyes filled with a fury that Eren had never seen before were trained on his prey, his teeth bared like a wild animal that would prowl around the camps occasionally. Erwin continued, his tone just as flat as before.

 

“I cannot let a search party go for her. We have too little men. Eren is our priority…”

 

“Priority? _Priority_? You want to let that little shit head run wild giggling as my _wife_ dies? Do you love him that much? Why don’t you go marry him? Huh!?” Eren winced again as Rivaille’s dark eyes finally bore into his skull. He couldn’t meet them. He was too frightened. 

 

He was silent for a while then. Erwin said nothing; neither did the squad behind him, or the nervous crowd of onlookers. Eren felt the tension in the air like a maze of wire entangling him — any movement would cut his flesh and constrict him. 

 

Finally, everybody let go of the Lance Corporal. He stood shakily, his hands clenching and unravelling as if he wasn’t quite sure of what to do. “Why do you treat her like she’s dead…?” he asked in a weak voice so uncharacteristic that Eren thought another had spoken. Rivaille repeated it over and over like it was the only phrase he knew, and his eyes turned towards Eren again. Eren averted his gaze but he could still feel the burn on his cheeks.

 

“Treating her like she’s dead…”

\---

The first thing you notice when you come to consciousness is the cold.

 

You sat up, shivering and clutching your wounded arm. You wanted to hate your father. For doing this to you, your mother, turning children into psychopaths… 

 

But all you could do was pity him. And you hated yourself for thinking that.

 

You try to move your arm, but sharp stings of pain prevented you from doing anything of the sort. You stifled a cry, biting down on your lip and hitting your head back against the stone-like wall behind you. A blind groping on your shoulder let you find it was still dislocated, and probably broken. You had to be careful — you had passed out from pain before and did not want to sleep again in this cage.

 

“E-excuse me?”

 

The quiet voice startled you so much that you jumped, nearly blacking out just after you told yourself not to. Your breathing and heart rate quickened. Were they back already? 

 

Some sense of logic that skill had drilled into you whispered ‘no, no they haven’t’. You realized this woman sounded older, and definitely more kind. She had a strange accent too, her words exaggerated, flat, and nasal. You had heard it somewhere before, but you couldn’t recall where…

 

“You’re injured,” the woman continued, but she still remained somewhere in the darkness. You had no idea how big the room was, nor what or who was in it. You shuffled back up against the wall, uncontrollable fear grabbing control of your body like a disease. You couldn’t see. You couldn’t breathe. Were you going to die right now —

 

Cold hands grasped your bad arm so tightly you thought you would have passed out from a heart attack. You screamed, struggling to writhe away from the touch. Your shoulder and head hurt too much to move far, so all you did was screamed. 

“Get away from me! Get away! Get away!!”

 

“I am trying to _help_ you,” she scolded, almost motherly like. She hadn’t let go. “Stop. I’m going to push it back into the socket.”

 

You froze, but even if you wanted to protest you didn’t have enough time. A horrible grinding noise accompanied with the feeling you were being burnt alive erupted, and you screamed again out of pain. When she let go, you slumped to the ground and brought your knees to your chest while clutching your shoulder blade. It still hurt the same, but at least felt normal from the outside.

 

You didn’t want to thank the woman, so instead you asked her suspiciously in a voice that sounded dead even to you, “who are you?”

 

“I can’t remember.”

 

“You can’t ‘remember’? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” your eyes were adjusting somewhat now, and if you squinted you could sort of see a lean physique silhouetted next to you. You remained on the floor, finding it more comforting to your aching limb.

 

“I. Don’t. Remember. All I have is the name ‘Smith’… I think it was kind of important. I don’t have anything else.”

 

“I… I’m sorry.” You winced at your own lameness. You apologies probably weren’t even needed by this mysterious woman anyways. Your suspicions returned shortly after your brief moment of pity. “Now are you friendly, or not?”

 

“No, I want to kill you. I just popped your shoulder back into place so I can eat you later,” she mumbled. Her tone was as sarcastic as Rivaille’s, so alike you felt nostalgia.

 

Oh my god, Rivaille. Baby.

 

You inhaled sharply, grasping your stomach. Was it all right after all that? Were you? If it was lost, could you even… could you even live to face Rivaille?

 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you said weakly, but she wasn’t listening. She made a gagging noise before retching, her dim figure staggering away from you into a far corner. “Wait — Wh-what’s wrong?” you panicked as she didn’t answer, instead heaving. You feared she had died before a tired voice strained with fatigue echoed back to you.

 

“I’m peachy, just… throwing up blood… those bastards won’t help me, won’t give me medicine…

 

“I’m sorry…” you muttered again, unsure of what else you could say. You smelled it now, rusty and sour. You wanted to throw up yourself but held it together, taking deep breaths through your mouth.

 

“‘Sorry’ never helped anybody,” she whispered to herself spitefully, her tone full of bitterness. You flinched. Something in that dark, broken tone clicked inside of you. You cautiously decided to trust her.

 

You told her of your pregnancy, keeping it brief to a sentence. She was quiet, not even making a noise of recognition. You thought she might’ve died again before she laughed, something cruel sounding and ragged.

 

“I wanted a family too, once…” she said to herself, sounding hysterical. “all I can remember. Baby, happy baby, happy family… With the sun and stars, maybe the river too… And Smith. I remember Smithy. But now I’m here. All by myself. All by myself…”

 

You decided she wasn’t sane any longer and shuffled away, curling up and wishing for Rivaille to be able to warm you up.


	25. Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques [25]

You try your hardest to sleep, despite the throbbing in your head that must’ve been a bad side-effect from the drugs. Smith, as you decide to call your new mental-and-blood-vomiting bestie, already passed out some time ago. All the while reciting some nursery rhyme in a foreign language, which was now stuck in your head.

 

_Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques…_

 

You want to blame Smith for keeping you up with the annoying melody, but you don’t find any energy to work up the anger. Besides, it sounded vaguely French. You weren’t well educated in languages, but you’ve heard Rivaille swear enough to have a decent understanding. The alien hocking noises she makes with her enunciation reminds you of him, which scars you deeper while comforting you at the same time.

 

_Bonjour means hello._

 

Your mind begins conjuring up sentences from old, old conversations you didn’t even remember you had with him. It doesn’t matter. It’s him. He laughs at your struggles to pronunciate with your heavy tongue set in your language. You want to say hello to him again. Hell, you’d settle to see anybody instead of darkness. 

 

_Lait means milk._

 

You wanted milk. It was always heaven to you, who was stuck drinking ratty-tasting runoff water every day. Milk was creamy and smooth, with a distinct taste of fat. Delicious.

 

_Je t’aime means…_

 

The abruptness of the next term broke you. You howled, unable to keep in your feelings anymore. You knew you scared Smith awake judging by her shocked scream, but you couldn’t give a shit about her. About anything.

 

It’s.

 

Not.

 

Fair.

 

Why did _you_ have to get pregnant? Why did _you_ have to have the shittiest dad who locked you in a room with a broken woman? Why did _you_ have to die? Why couldn’t _you_ be fucking happy?

 

Why? Why? _Why?!_

 

“Calm down. Calm down!”

 

You ceased your frustrated thrashing to realize Smith was hovering above you, pinning your arms down to the floor. She kept repeating for you to calm down until you did, steam dissipating from you like it would a cup of cheap coffee.

 

“Funny, the crazy lady is telling me to calm my shit,” you muttered in a hoarse voice once you stopped screaming. 

 

“You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

 

She retreated back into her corner, without another word. So much for Nurse Hysteria at your side to soothe you with warm honey. 

 

Now tuckered out, you lay back down. You touched your stomach, something that became a habit. You felt yourself growing fatter — and it worried you. You hadn’t eaten since you had been thrown in here. Your child would suck the life out of you until you both died.

 

Well, at least Smith will have a nice meal with your corpse. 

 

“Dormez vous… Dormez vous?”

 

“Shut up,” you called. You heard this already and weren’t eager to repeat the cycle. You regretted making a fit now. Now you had to listen to this French shit all over again.

 

“Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!” Smith only started singing louder, knowing full well she was annoying you.

 

“Please.”

 

“Ding! Ding dong. Ding! Ding! Dooooong.”

 

You covered your ears and rolled to the side. She’d lost her will to be melodic all of the sudden, belching out the lyrics at any pitch and rhythm she desired. You tried to search for something to think about, and settled back on Rivaille.

 

_Merde means shit. Like you._

 

He was so, so loving.

 

You touched your stomach again, laying your palm on the goosebump riddled skin. Life was inside of you. A real person, depending on you to make it live. 

 

You hated people depending on you. It made you guilty as hell.

 

 _Fuck you_ , you thought miserably to it. Then, _Who are you?_

 

Who _was_ it? A boy? A girl? What the hell would you name it? Would you even be able to? 

 

“Frère Jacques. Frère Jacques.”

 

For the love of God, you were going to accidentally name your child Jacques if you get through this.

 

Before your mind could yield to insanity again, the door swung open. Finally. In haste, you fell over yourself to get up. The light from outside burned your retinas, and you had to look through your fingers while squinting.

 

“Who’s there?” you heard Smith yelp. You turned to face her as well as you could, eager to catch a glimpse of the dark lump you were stuck with. You first noticed reddish brown hair that was grown so long it scraped the floor when she kneeled. Her eyes were closed as if she was a mole peeking up under the ground, her nose dirtied with mud and twitching. She was bloodstained all along the front of her —

 

Her scouting legion uniform.

 

“Your food is here,” you hear a feminine voice. You know it’s Annie.

 

You want to strangle her, but you can’t even stand up. You crawl blindly to her voice, where something hard lands on your fingers, crushing them and sending shock of pain up your sluggish nerves. You yelp, flinching away. It’s a hard ceramic bowl, filled with rotting fruit and bones of some sort that spill onto the ground.

 

Smith notices it too and lunges past you, pushing you away. Your head collides with the wall. It knocks the breath out of you for what felt like an eternity.

 

Your eyes have adjusted now, but all you see is a shadow hunched over and kneeling at Annie’s feet. The crunching of bones knocks you out of your daze, and you scramble to find a bite before Smith eats it all.

 

Annie hasn’t left yet, watching you and Smith eating like rabid animals. You stuff moldy vegetable peels down your gullet, uncaring if you might throw it up later. Having something to put in your mouth and chew was amazing enough. There are juices at the bottom of the bowl and you cup your stiff fingers, struggling to get every last sour drop of moisture.

 

“I didn’t even want to grab you anyway. You’re just an old hag, but your daddy wanted to see his precious little girl one last time.”

 

You’re listening, unable to remember what she had said before but can’t care at the moment. You’ll process it later. 

 

“You’re both useless idiots. We wanted Jaeger and Ackerman anyways…”

 

At first, you thought she was mentioning Eren and Mikasa. You continue your silence. Annie drops something else on the floor — a bucket. You immediately plunge your hand in it, and find it’s dirty, soapy water. You don’t care. You drink it. Smith gags beside you, her body rejecting the few bacteria-infested nutrients. You ignore her and drink. 

 

“Hm? Can’t even recognize your own last name anymore? Wow, you must really be a dumb bitch.”

 

Ackerman is your last name.

 

Because it’s Rivaille’s last name.

 

You stop drinking.

 

“There we go. Good girl. Anyways, your dad has a plan for Jaeger. I can deal with that. It’s only in a couple of days. But for that sour faced, short, little asshole who can’t even find it in himself to look reasonably decent — I just wanted to kill him right away as soon as I saw his face. I hardly even know how you can handle his tiny dick inside of you, but I guess you’re just a whore…”

 

You can’t find your rage. She’s mocking you. She’s mocking your love. 

 

All you can muster is a dumb stare and a slack jaw. 

 

“Well, your daddy told us that he wanted you just so he could draw the shitface out. He’s probably not going to come for you, since he’s fuckin’ that other squad leader. Ponytail. But a girl can dream, right?” She lets out a light-hearted chuckle, as if she was gossiping to you about the latest news. “I don’t think the Master even wants the little guy. I think he just wants to up your pain, first by torturing you and then torturing your hubby in front of you.”

 

“And her?” you finally ask, able to unglue your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Your thumb jabbing towards Smith who was on the ground making choking noises. It was pathetic that the only thing you had to say after that was to ask about your cellmate’s wellbeing. Kindness was not a strong point on you, but Annie was already answering you before you could take back your question and switch it for a more helpful one.

 

“She’s a failure,” Annie said almost sadly, her thin lips turning into a fake, childish pout. “ _He_ didn’t want to come get her. That’s why I didn’t want to kidnap you, so we didn’t repeat mistakes. You scouting legion fuckers are hard to get the attention of. But the Master says that even if the loser doesn’t manage to find you, it’ll be funner to kill you anyways.”

 

“…Funner isn’t a real word,” you say. That’s all you can say. You’re screaming at yourself but your mouth refuses to open, to let out the torrent of screams and curses and hate spewing from your soul — so instead, you just point out her flawed linguistics.

 

You hate yourself.

 

She only grins, finding amusement in your failure to comprehend reality. “You’ll have a _funner_ time once you’re done in here, trust me. In the very least, it’ll be _funner_ for me.”

 

The flat nosed demon left you in the room after that, and Smith threw up again. It was close to you, and you felt the warmth of the foul spew hit your hand.

 

You wanted to die.


	26. Rings [26]

You gave up on counting days a long time ago.

 

You scratched the stone wall absentmindedly, your fingernails worn down to the skin where it was raw. You pretended this was for your ‘hygiene’, keeping your nails short. It was the least you could do — pretend to be clean — after shitting in buckets. 

 

“Smith?” you ask softly, unsure if your companion was awake or not. She made a noise of acknowledgement, having accepted Smith as her nickname some time back. “Do you remember anything yet?”

 

Deciding you might as well make some use of her, you urged Smith to recall some of her memories. You guessed it was kind of cruel, pretending to be her friend if only to take her information. But you also knew you were getting attached to her. That is, if you measured friendship in progressively less annoyance towards ‘Frère Jacques’.

 

“No.”

 

“First letter?” You were referring to her name, where she claimed she had an epiphany before you arrived and then forgot it. 

 

You could feel the silent tension from her as she strained to claw back a snippet of her past — anything at all. You expected this. Nothing ever came from her…

 

“R.”

 

“What?”

 

“R. It started with an R!”

 

You sat up, excited. Although the news was entirely useless, it was something. Smith cheered in elation, and you saw a shadow in the lessening darkness (as your eyes struggled to develop in the lack of light) pump upwards. It was her fist.

 

“Why hello, Mrs. R. Smith,” you sighed, happy for her. You closed your eyes. You repeated your name to yourself, and then Rivaille’s. You didn’t want to lose it like Smith had.

 

Now was when you usually asked Smith about her Scouting Legion uniform. Was she military? What squad? Who did she know? You decided to let her brain rest after one discovery, though. Maybe youd press her again later.

 

“I remember something else, too.” Smitch breaks the silence suddenly, just as you’re about to drift off to sleep again. Your heart jumps again.

 

“What is it?”

 

“My ring.”

 

Although slightly disappointed, you’re still happy she knows more about herself. It might be the key to everything else. You roll on your side to face where you assume she usually stays, and grin although she can’t see it. 

 

“What about it?”

 

“It had a… a pearl on it.”

 

Your eyes widened. Pearls were the most valued things in the small human civilization left on the Earth — because pearls came from oceans, which the walls did not have. Pearls only came from successful mapping missions, and even then they were so expensive and mystical you might as well have been the King to even catch a glimpse of one.

 

“How’d you get it?” you asked, intrigued.

 

“I… I don’t know.”

 

“Oh.” You were deflated now. It was a mystery indeed. “Well, what do pearls look like?”

 

“They’re beautiful. They’re round and perfectly smooth, and kinda pink too. It was on a gold band which always… always…”

 

“Glimmered in the light?” You knew the feeling all too well.

 

“Yeah. ‘Glimmered.’ It just sort of glowed… and it was beautiful.”

 

“Where is it now?”

 

“They took it.”

 

You didn’t need any more words to describe ‘they’. Nobody came in to taunt or check up on you any longer — several different faces came by to change the ‘washroom’ bucket, the ‘water’ bucket, and the ‘food’ bowl. You wondered how many people that _thing_ that provided sperm to make you had recruited for its titan shifting army. 

 

“Where’s your ring, [Name]?” 

 

Smith took to using your name often, probably because she never got to talk to anybody else. You didn’t mind. It helped you remember whom you were when you suddenly felt like a pile of dust.

 

“I left it for Rivaille to find.” You used Rivaille’s name often, too, so Smith could help you remember on the agonizing days that you forgot. 

 

“Fat load it did you,” Smith muttered, unaware of the insensitivity of her words. A pang of pain hit you, but Smith had already rolled over, finished with conversation.

 

You went to sleep, unable to do anything but wait.


	27. Dates [27]

Eren hovered outside Rivaille’s door so often that Hange often nicknamed him a moth. 

“You’re fluttering around him like he’s a light, but every time you get close you get burned,” she commented wisely, despite the goofy grin on her face. 

He wanted to help his broken Lance Corporal. He really did. But every time he tried, Rivaille would either give no notice or insult him. 

Usually both. 

Today, however, it was much too quiet in the man’s lonely office. It was usually echoing with crashing noises or shrill, French screaming (again, usually both) — but the day was quiet. Eren didn’t know why.

At first, he assumed Rivaille was sleeping, so he left to help somebody else out. Then, with a shock as he neared the staircase, he saw the Corporal with a 3DMG blade jutting out of his body, slack against the wall. He ran back up the stairs — 3 at a time — back towards Rivaille. He couldn’t lost you _and_ him both.

He flung the door open without hesitation, about to scream for help when he saw him sitting at his desk, calmly writing something on a clean sheet of parchment. Rivaille looked up, eyebrows raised inquisitively about why a teenager had just broken the lock on his door.

“Um,” Eren said. “You’re…

“Okay? Yes. Thank you, Eren. I love having my door broken down.” His tone was full of sarcasm, as always, but it made Eren feel a little bit better.

“I’m going to go now, sir,” Eren said as quickly as possible so he could quickly get his ass out of there. Already turning to go, Rivaille clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Get in here.”

Eren’s heart nearly failed, but he swallowed and sucked it up. 

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, turning back around and dragging his feet into the little office. It was rectangular and without any special decoration at all, equipped with a single lamp, desk and chair. Rivaille said nothing and was still, which gave Eren the clue that he was waiting for him to move to the desk. Eren did, peering over Rivaille’s shoulder in curiosity. He couldn’t read it — it was in French.

“It’s the anniversary.”

Of what? Eren didn’t want to ask aloud, afraid of coming off as rude, but Rivaille answered the silent question immediately.

“We got married on this day. In a shitty little chapel, but it was special. She was given blessings there, apparently.”

Eren listened, his heart dropping with every syllable. Guilt. Guilt crushed him although he had no valid reason to feel it, but it hurt all the same. What was Rivaille feeling?

“Eren, do you know why I haven’t killed myself yet?”

The flat sentence hung in the air. It was cold, like a winter’s breeze had suddenly entered the room and barraged Eren’s body. He shivered.

“No, sir.”

Rivaille finally turned to face him, and his eyes were deader than the leaves outdoors as they shriveled to the ground. Eren was incredibly uncomfortable, his chest tight. He felt suffocated by those eyes.

“I’m not dead because all Titans are still alive.”

Eren flinched. He was a titan-shifter here himself, and although he and his beloved superior had the same goal, it never quite sounded the same when it came out of Rivaille’s mouth. It was colder. Less powerful, less passionate. More like a mission assigned to an assassin. 

Rivaille stood suddenly, his wooden chair screeching against the ground. Eren jumped. He had been transfixed to the spot, his thoughts frozen with those haunting words. Rivaille stood, staring into his eyes still, those gaunt and dead, _dead_ eyes that made him feel like he was dying himself.

Rivaille put something down on the sheet of parchment, and Eren recognized it as his wedding ring. Rivaille left without another word, leaving Eren staring at the gold until the candle melted away into blackness.

Eren was still cold.


	28. Sit and Wait [28]

You’re jolted awake by a ghostly cold shiver that runs through your body. Your abdomen also aches more than it ever has before. You hate being awake — because it hurt and you have to deal with reality rather than be tucked away as time flows on without you. But, you have nothing else to do but blame your child.

Your stomach is very swollen now. You can almost pretend you’re healthy, and you’re so grateful you haven’t woken up yet to bleeding. You wonder just _how_ your child hasn’t died yet, and hold some sort of grudging admiration for the soul sharing your blood. You then remember it’s Rivaille’s kid too, and forget all doubts you had about it surviving.

Besides, it had to, since you probably wouldn’t.

The chill seemed to be between you and Smith both. You heard her scraping the walls, something she did when she was nervous and too tired to sing or talk to herself. You propped yourself up against the wall, careful not to shift your stomach too much. You already felt the damnation wriggling inside of you; it was shifting your organs, and pushing at your skin to look like something demonic. 

“Smith?” you asked in a croak that resembled a warty toad. You didn’t have enough energy to ask a full question, but Smith knew you so well now that she could decipher paragraphs from a simple grunt of yours. In a way, she was your new husband. 

“So… some… so… some… somebody’s here,” she muttered tonelessly, in stuttered syllables that were purposeful. You guessed she still held on to her hysterical singing after all.

“What?” you looked around, your eyes having long adjusted to the dark. You saw nobody. “What…”

As if Smith had foretold the future, the iron door that had always been bolted shut except for meals creaked open. You winced at the light and shied your face away, holding up your skeletal fingers to block it.

“Master would like to see you, bitch.”

Your blood turned colder than your fingers. Annie. She hadn’t seen you since delivering ‘food’ and ‘water’ personally, choosing to ignore you both. You didn’t care about her, though.

Master. The monster you called a ‘Father’ for the naïve and young years of your life. The man you hated most and would really enjoy stabbing repeatedly.

But you were scared. You were so, so scared to see him. It was worse than being sent to the principal’s office, worse than facing a titan right as its jaw opened wide, and worse than anything you’ve ever felt before.

It meant you were going to die.

“Get up, bitch!” Annie said now, sounding extremely annoyed that _she_ had to be sent to retrieve the old, pregnant captive. You rose unsteadily.

“[Name],” Smith whispered, suddenly grapping your wrist. You nearly screamed at the surprise but she was whispering fast now, a phrase over and over that you almost didn’t catch, “please be safe.”

“Smith,” you managed to slip past petrified lips. Her hand gave you warmth. You couldn’t nod and lie to her, because you both knew for certain that you’d be returning as flesh in Smith’s stew, so instead you replied, “thank you.”

She let go. Annie, impatient with the display of affection, stomped forwards and grabbed your bony arm with disgust. You yelped at the harsh and overly strong touch. She tugged you, forcing your legs into a stiff walk. 

You craned your head backwards to get a last look at Smith, desperately making a run for the open door before it was slammed. You cursed. You had prayed she could’ve escaped. Not that prayers were worth much to you, you thought bitterly as torches shone out to you like the sun. You spent so much of your time in the darkness, praying for light for so long that now that light had arrived, you wished for it to go away.

The smell of blood hung around like fog in the corridor you were dragged through. You just remembered that you should’ve made a mental map of the labyrinth, but you were just too tired to care. You swayed uneasily with each step, holding onto your stomach with your free hand as Annie paced you through. You didn’t realize you were wheezing until Annie told you to shut up. Where was the healthy, young soldier that had once been you?

Annie opens a door that immediately flushes the dank hallways with sunlight. You hiss aloud, cringing away from the light. It burned your retinas and made you feel light-headed, only serving to make you sicker. You nearly fall onto the ground if not for Annie grasping your elbow and hauling you outside.

You don’t have shoes anymore — you don’t really remember what happened to them. But you do feel blades of grass scraping against your calloused soles, and pushing up between the toes of your feet. If you could just open your eyes you would probably see waves of lush greenery, trees waving in the slight wind and wildflowers dotting the hills like paint splatters. Oh yes, the meadow. The meadow in which you had reunited with your father since coming to Hell, where he sat perched in that tree like an emperor.

You covered your eyes with a hand and squint through a slit and nearly choke in disgust.

The land is barren. It’s dry, all the lovely greenery of nature you imagine extinguished. The grass you stood upon was caked with layer and layer of black powder that looks like ash, and the _smell_ is so unbearably sweet like blood you nearly vomit. Annie lets you fall to the ground and leaves, and you don’t care enough to watch if she actually exits the yard. You manage to extend an arm to slow your fall, but your legs crumple and scrape against the rough grass. No, it’s not grass, because it’s much too hard. Your breaths come in heavy. Your fingers contract around the strange, rocky like power Annie threw you down against. It’s not sand or gravel.

A bubble of horror erupts in you when you realize it must be bone. 

“My dear!” you hear your Father shout. You wince as you take the hand away from your eye and bury yourself in darkness again, unable to prop yourself up any longer. You lie and cover your eyes, curling on your side. You don’t want to see him before he kills you. 

“Go away,” you whimper over and over. The repetitiveness of Smith’s constant chanting has infected you and it’s all you can say, “go away, go away, go away.” 

“But honey, I haven’t seen you for so long. It’s been 10 months and you didn’t even say bye-bye to daddy.” 

Your father’s voice sounds far off. He’s probably sitting in that tree, so you position yourself so your back is against him. You remove your hands from your eyes and now to your ears. 10 months. You don’t know how long pregnancy is supposed to take, but you have fears now. What if you don’t make it after all this agony? What if the damn thing inside you doesn’t? Could you live with yourself then?

“My son-in-law hasn’t even come close, either. Did you know that my castle has guards in a 10-kilometer radius around it? He hasn’t been sighted at all. Not him, or any of his men. He’s not even looking for you.”

You hate him. You hate him so much it’s boiling over and you’re shaking. But is that because of rage, fear, or exhaustion? But he’s not lying.

You’re crushed instantly.

_He’s not even looking for you._

The line is branded into your mind. Your breath eases out of your body and none is taken in. Were you that unimportant to him? Did he not care at all? You had screamed into the silent walls for him to come for you. You had prayed every damn minute of the day. You remembered him to keep you warm. But above all, you had faith in him.

For better or for worse. 10 months was enough for anything to happen. Did he find somebody else? Somebody there who was maybe prettier? Sexier?

Did he really give up on you?

You breathe as black begins to spot your vision.

“Aw, no talking? You always were a quiet baby. It was nice, actually. Too bad you’re so much of a shitty disappointment now.”

“Kill me.”

Words are foreign to you now, but you manage for one plead. You still can’t face him but you let him acknowledge your request. If Rivaille didn’t care enough in 10 months, then you didn’t care for another second. You want to die.

“As if I hadn’t considered that before! Do you think me to be stupid?” Suddenly light erupts in your vision again and you gurgle out a scream — because he’s standing right there, prodding your eyelid open with a singly finger. You can’t roll away, and you can’t even stand up. You feel cornered in an open plain, panting heavily with panic and squinting in the still too-bright light. 

“Kill me!” you scream now, hoping you could at least damage his ears before you die. “ _Fucking kill me, you worthless ungrateful ass!_ ”

He lets you scream yourself raw until you’re actually coughing up blood, hacking into the soil. He pretends to stroke his chin thoughtfully as you suck in air, hatred spilling out of your eyes. 

“…I won’t.”

His words deflate again. Of course he wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of death. He would want to torture you first. You should’ve known.

He runs his hand along your shirt, slipping it under the soiled cloth to touch your equally soiled stomach. You writhe away. His touch is poison.

“I want the kid,” he says very softly. “And then you may die.”

“I want Smith,” you say through gritted teeth. The pain you had experienced earlier is returning now, stronger and fiercer. You fight through it. It’s nothing. “I want her. I want her and then you can kill me. Please. I want Smith.”

“Smith? Who… oh.” He nods, making an exaggerate frown while nodding. He knows you’re talking about your crazy, blood-hurling, annoying and yet sister-like cellmate.

“I. Want. Her.”

“Okay, okay! Sheesh, honey, I forgot you were stubborn. We’ll bring her out. Annie?”

You guess Annie was still nearby, for the door opens and slams. Fine. Who cares if millions were watching. You hoped to be gone before they could laugh at you anyways.

You wait for Smith, heaving breaths through your body as you struggle not to wince or convulse. It’s like something is grasping at your innards and twisting them slowly — but no. You can get through it, because it’s nothing. You’re only imagining it.

Smith is there in a faster amount of time than you could even begin counting. She yelps in agony as Annie pushes her into the dirt. You know her eyes haven’t adjusted yet and call her name weakly, signaling to her that you were here. 

Your dad walks away indifferently but you ignore him. You struggle to get your way to Smith, who is propped on all fours and dazed with her eyes tightly shut like a blind pup. You grasp her wrist and she shrieks — but you gasp her name again. 

“Smith. Smith, it’s me.”

“Oh my god. [Name].”

She clutches your arm back and twists it awkwardly, forcing you to lie on your back. She hugs your neck tightly, pressing her forehead to your hairline. 

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered in a broken voice, clutching you. You can’t help but smile now, despite the horribly shitty situation. At least somebody still loved you. 

No, no. You can’t think of that now. Instead, you force yourself to focus only on Smith, who is cradling you to her.

“I will be, soon,” you try to say in a calm and cynical way like you always were. But instead you burst out crying, hysteria finally catching up to you.

The two of you sit and wait as your Father, through the haze and blur of your tears, settles in to watch.


	29. Don't Focus [29]

Eren wasn’t quite too sure why Rivaille had brought him out to a dirty old path behind the castle. He was also too afraid to ask, so he trudged on through the mud in silent agony.

“Stop.” Rivaille spoke suddenly, holding a hand up to stop the young teenager. Eren obeyed, peering behind the Corporal’s slim frame to see what he was studying. There was nothing — not even a boulder to look at.

“Sir?” he asked nervously. Was he hallucinating? Drugs? 

“This is where she should’ve been,” Rivaille mumbled to himself, and Eren nearly sighed aloud. Of course. 10 months later and he was still lingering around where you’d disappeared, scouring the pebbles and taking every wrinkle in a tree bark as a message you’d left behind. Erwin and Hange’s patience wore thin quickly, and so he was often out here alone. It seemed that he’d decided to bring Eren on the most miserable day.

Unsure of what to say, Eren pulled his boots out of the mud to the grass, where the trees at least provided some coverage from the showering skies. Rivaille knelt, brushing his hands across a patch of dandelions.

Eren sighed and leaned against the bark of the willow. He didn’t care of the white powder that would smudge into his cloak. However, the tree he had chosen was still young and gave a sharp _crack_ to which it deposited him upon the soaking ground. 

“Shit!” Eren yelped, flailing for purchase and instead scraping his hand on the broken midsection of the poor sapling he’d just demolished. With another equally soiled curse, he clutched his hand to his abdomen. He was glad he didn’t go titan — that would’ve made for awkward bonding time with Rivaille.

“Are you hurt?” he asked grumpily, not even looking up over to where he lay.

“No,” Eren muttered glumly. He was soaked, in pain, and cold. Eren sat up, unbuttoning his cloak so that the sopping fabric wouldn’t leech all his warmth. He accidentally dropped it into the forest bed, and with another half-hearted curse he bent over to pick it back up. When he did, the rough cotton brought up a chunk of dirt with it. Eren wanted to cry. Now he was dirty, too.

Something clung to the sod besides grass, though. Assuming it was a rock, Eren brushed it out, only to find that it wasn’t a stone at all. It was a ring.

A gold one, too! Score, Eren thought to himself. Gold sold for a lot. It was too dirty to really recognize, but he could only think that somebody lost it. Why else would it be in this disgusting, secluded forest?

He made his way to Rivaille, shielding his eyes from the continuous sheet of downpour. “Lance Corporal!” he called to him, holding the ring with both hands so that it could wash in the rain collected in his palms. 

“What?” Rivaille snapped, looking back with a heated glare.

“Look what I found.”

Eren drained the murky water and gave the ring to Rivaille, eager to be praised for his work. Surely it was something.

Rivaille turned it over in his slender fingers, before furrowing his brow. He gave it back to Eren, disappointing the young boy. Was it not to standards?

“Wash it more,” he ordered in a calm tone that was restrained. The older man stood, watching Eren expectantly.

With a mumbled ‘yessir’, he took the cleanest part of his ruined cloak and scrubbed at the soft metal. Sediment and wildlife had trashed it, covering it with dents and scratches of all shapes and sizes. Once Eren had finished cleaning the inside of the ring, Rivaille snatched it back from him.

He squinted, looking as if he was struggling to read something faint. Eren wasn’t sure what.

“It’s… hers.”

“What?” Eren was surprised by the sudden whisper Rivaille gave, but he was already moving back towards the camp. “Lance Corporal!”

He gave no answer, and instead broke into a sprint.

What the hell could a single damn ring that barely had any luster to it mean?

\---

Pain gripped you tight like something pressing into your organs, gripping them tight and twisting them around. You held your breath, hoping that the clench of your abdomen would stifle some of the ache, but instead it just left you breathless.

You’d heard something like this from a classmate that wanted to be a nurse. She said that women felt severe pain during childbirth.

You refused to believe it.

You didn’t want to birth a child only to have it taken away from you — in fact, you sort of wished it wouldn’t make it at all. You took those thoughts back immediately — of course you wanted it to live. 

But did you really?

Fuck, you nearly voiced aloud as another wave gripped you. Smith felt the clutch of your skeletal fingers and peered into your eyes anxiously, as if knowing what was happening. You blinked, pressing your lips together. 

_Help me._

Rain was falling now, as if the sky wept for you. Your mother always told you that rain weren’t tears but rather tiny droplets of life — but right now, lying with only a delusional freak for company and nearly losing vision to pain, you decided that you deserved tears to be shed for you.

You saw your father on the throne in the corner of your eye. If you could raise your head more, you would be able to stare at him loathingly as he died, but you didn’t have enough willpower to move. You also saw Annie, reappeared noiselessly, holding a single 3DMG blade that she flipped in her hand expertly. It was severed from the actual gear, but still looked dangerously sharp…

“Don’t… focus…” Roana blurted out suddenly. You realized she was talking to you, sharing probably the motto of her life.

Don’t focus. Don’t breathe. Don’t think.

Let go.

Nobody was left to love you, anyways.

You closed your eyes.

Don’t focus.


	30. Glimmer [30]

A jolt hits you again and you suddenly don’t care anymore. If you died, you would die. Fine. You accepted that long ago.

But you’d be damned if the little _fucker_ inside of you didn’t make it. 

You screamed, your throat raw as your father started to chuckle. You felt like your entire being was being torn apart. Flesh being ripped. Bones snapping. Everything tearing in a desperate attempt to eject the thing inside of you. You saw nothing but the insides of your eyelids as you howled, Roana’s feverish muttering quiet against your screeches.

Roana? Why had you given that name to her? She’d been R Smith, you remembered slightly in a daze as the pain faded, your body collapsing back to the ground. Who was Roana? You were certain that was her name.

But nevermind that. Another wave rolled over you and you didn’t have enough energy to cry out anymore. Your body arched off of the ground as knives grated your flesh, but you couldn’t weep. Tears wet your face like rain. If only you could see rain again.

You had probably lost consciousness in between blinking. When you realized you weren’t in pain, the fear set in. Cold, sweaty, gut-twisting fear.

You waited for the crying. A screaming, bloody baby to be snatched away from you. At least you would see it then for the before you succumbed to the void. But there wasn’t anything at all. Weakly, you slapped for Roana’s wrist.

“Where is it?” you rasped. She stared at you, her eyes clear for the first time ever. She shook her head slowly. “Where the fuck is it!?”

“Ah, dear.” Your father stepped forwards. His neatly combed hair was reflecting light that was too bright for you to distinguish. It was the same colour of yours before you’d dyed it. You wanted to run from him as he approached, sauntering forwards. But you couldn’t. Roana was twitchy like a mouse deciding to take flight, but she kept where she was, petting your hand frantically.

“Where…”

He swept two fingers against you, and you flinched as his dirty hands touched you. He showed you with a theatrical pout on his face. 

Blood.

Blood. Blood. Blood. You’d seen much of it before. Too much. Titan’s blood. Blood draining from your flesh. Blood on knives. Draining from horses. Cows. Pigs. Birds. Your blood. Other’s blood as they eyeballs hung out of their faces. But you never wanted to see this.

You whimpered and let your head fall back. So it had died after all. 

“This is really a shame. I wanted a grandchild so, very much, you see? A boy. But your mother refused to have another child. And then she died…” he mused to himself, because you were barely able to listen. You couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect its face would’ve been—with your eyes and his tall, attractive nose.

“You didn’t love her at all, you lying bastard.” It was all you could manage to defend your mother. Ghosts and God weren’t something you cared for, but you hoped she was smiling down on you.

“You’re right. But at least, when she died, I had an excuse to leave you behind.” He turned to look at Annie, who still stood, waiting. He waved slightly. “Cut it out.”

Your hands managed to cover your stomach but she flicked them away, smirking at how little resistance you had. She ignored Roana completely, but the crazy woman knelt next to you still, her whimpers quiet. At least she wasn’t singing. You really didn’t need that while leaving the mortal world.

“Will you please kill me now, Father dearest?” you taunted scathingly, some dignity coming back to you as Annie positioned the blade on your skin. You refused to react as you felt it pierce you, the blade so sharp that its own weight allowed it to sink through your flesh. Your voice was too quiet to be discernible, but he seemed to understand all the same. He merely chortled whimsically.

“I suppose I could give you one last gift, daughter! One last blessing from dear daddy.”

You closed your eyes and waited for Annie to slash you open, but she suddenly screamed. Your eyes flitted open to see blood rain down onto your face. Roana yelped too. The hot stickiness was familiar, but there was no way it could be yours…

Reiner suddenly appeared in your vision, his large body taking up most of it. He immediately hit you, your skin burning from where he’d punched you. You could feel Roana cowering beside you, hysterically screaming ‘Smith!’ over and over again. You were hit again. Again. You were being pummeled, and you didn’t even move. What was the damn commotion, anyways? You just wanted to die in fucking peace! Smith, Smith, Smith, Smith—

“[Name]!”

The voice hardly seemed familiar. In fact, you were just imagining. Your father scrambled away. You wanted to raise yourself. Fight him. Kill him. Smith! But you let Reiner keep hitting you, his fists inexperienced but painful all the same. Take me. Kill me. Smith, Smith.

Reiner was thrown off of you. You felt his weight disappear. You still couldn’t fathom _how_ , though, and kept staring upwards with fire blazing in your face. Numbness settled over you and Roana finally silent. The young boy’s screams rung in your ears like distant church bells. His choking noises were drowned into croaks, and then, silence. You wondered what had happened to him. And then a more important question—who?

“ _[Name]_!”

You blinked as Rivaille cradled your head in his hands, staring into your eyes, his own reflecting a desperate and furious expression that you wished you could have as well.

“You came,” was all you could say. A small smile. He came.

“Of course I did. Did you think I would leave your pathetic ass here to rot? Fuck you.” His voice cracked under his tears and he pressed his forehead to yours. You hadn’t felt that in a very long time.

“Hm.” You closed your eyes, loving the feeling that his eyelashes gave as they fluttered against your clammy skin. You loved that he loved you. You loved all the memories that you’d had. You loved sunny days and you loved holding his hands. You loved him. You only wished that you’d be around to love him longer. 

Re-energized with your husband’s appearance, you reached up to grab his wrist as firmly as you possibly could. “Cut it out,” you commanded, mimicking your father’s words. It would be the last time you would ever obey him.

“But—”

Apparently, your expression said enough, as he suddenly gritted his teeth. The blade Annie had dropped in the struggle was now in his hands. You felt it scrape your skin, his shaky hand wary against you. You heard more voices now—Eren, maybe—Zoe—Erwin. Your father would be long gone. You could only hope that you’d offset his plans by some degree. A hand in yours. Roana’s? Zoe’s frightful gaze peering down at you. But you could only stare up at Rivaille, your eyes flashing once.

“Do it,” you hissed. He plunged the blade into you and you choked on your sudden energy, the steel like acid. It ate away at you as he sawed. 

You hadn’t wanted to leave the world like this. The house beside the river seemed like it could be so close! You just had to live. You just had to live. You just had to live. You jus

\---

_“Roana!”_

Sharp sounds of screaming. Muffled sobs. The hand in your hand gone.

Silence.

The scraping of earth. Flying. You felt yourself flying, being lifted. Flight. Away, freedom. Birds. Peace. Rivers, oceans, freedom. Birds. Life. Happiness. Gold. Prosperity.

Silence. Death.

Suffering.

Endless.

\---

You woke in a hospital bed. 

At first, you were disappointed. Heaven seemed like an utterly shitty place. You struggled to move your head—but your neck creaked each time you breathed, so you decided against it. The air was sanding down the flesh of your throat, and your mouth was filled with a thick paste of nasty sorts. The mucus might as well choke you to death.

Your spluttering as you tried not to die made you start to realize that you might have actually lived. Your memories were as dim as your sight—where was Rivaille? 

Where was your child?!

“You probably shouldn’t have woken up.”

As if reading your thoughts, he peered over you, the bags under his eyes resembling bruises. He looked clean though. Cleanliness was something of a dream to you not too long ago. You blinked slowly, trying to think of something to say. None of the words in your head strung together properly. He kept talking without any of your input, anyways.

“But you did. That was a mistake, but you woke up anyways.” And then, quietly, “thank you.”

Your lips curled into a smile and he kissed you.

“The baby?” you managed to pry your lips open and make a guttural noise to resemble language. His face grew even more gaunt.

“…it’s a boy.”

“Lived?” your eyes widened with surprise and you wanted to leap up with joy—if you could move a muscle, you would’ve.

“He lived. Hange’s holding him for now.”

You breathed out deeply, and for once, you didn’t feel hopeless. Something had made it out of Hell. You’d done it! You’d lived! And you’d brought life with you!

“Stop smiling like that. You look like an idiot.”

You kept grinning up at him before remembering, a faint French tune strike your heart with fear.

“Roana… R Smith?” your tongue couldn’t quite get the sound right, but he understood. His hand around yours tightened and you winced—the light pressure around your bones felt like he was breaking them. His grip loosened but he was still there.

“Remember Erwin’s wife, from long ago?”

“Um...” it then came to you. One drunken night, he’d spoken to you in a stupor. It was the only time you’d seen the commander so personal. Roana Smith. Of course. 

“That was her. He thought she was dead so he’d left her, but she was still alive. So your fath—” he stopped himself, the words falling into a hasty “nevermind.” You understood what happened, anyways.

“Where’s… she now?”

He peered down at you warily. “Dead.”

You closed your eyes and tears stung the back of them. She had managed to keep you sane by being insane. She’d held your hand as you faced death. And when she wasn’t loopy, she had given you some slight comfort by making sure you never forgot to love. For that, you’d be eternally grateful.

“How?”

“That kid… I thought I’d pummeled him to death. But he still had his hands on a bow. She covered for you. She died in Erwin’s arms. We buried her outside, near the forest.”

“Hm.” You stared upwards at the disgusting ceiling. “Can you… sit me… up?”

He supported you as you inched your way up the thin bed. You winced every time your abdomen shifted.

There was a window on the side. You looked through it and saw lush green grass, a horse trotting past. Life. You wished Roana could’ve seen it too. You would have to mourn her properly when you could. She deserved that much. Everybody did. You could almost feel your mother’s touch on your skin as you stared at the blurry distance.

“Erwin okay?” you asked after a while.

“Probably not.” It was all that could be said for that. Nobody was okay, not in this time or generation. ‘Probably not’ would have to do. You looked at him slowly, and then down at your hand, which was gently being rubbed.

“Oh.” Your ring sat there, but it was loose over your thin fingers. You squinted to try and look at it, too weak to bend your arm and bring it close. Your eyes had been ruined from your time in captivity. It’d be impossible for you to go back to the force. _As if you wanted to,_ you thought, your father’s sly grin showing. You gladly allowed Rivaille’s voice to pull you out of your memories.

“You shouldn’t have left that behind. That shit’s expensive, you know?” he joked sarcastically and you laughed—getting winded as your stitches screamed. 

“Sorry.” 

Zoe entered after Rivaille had kissed you for the umpteenth time. A bundle of blankets rested in her arms and your heart flipped erratically. She grinned at you, her eyes wide behind her goggles as if she was handling one of her experiments.

“Here he is!” she sang. You might’ve criticized her happy tone if you weren’t so excited yourself. It felt wrong to be happy. Death surrounded you. Death surrounded others. Fear. Silence. Endless dread. 

But you were happy. Fucking hell, you were happy. And you’d relish it.

She handed the swaddled boy to Rivaille, as your arms were currently useless. You stared down at him hungrily as he started to gurgle, waking up. Rivaille’s tall, attractive nose. When the infant opened his eyes, they were yours. Your mother’s. You finally cried, the hot tears slipping through and splashing the baby’s forehead. He cried too. You held in your sobs, each shudder rippling through your body as you blew wispy hairs out of your child’s face.

“Smith,” you whispered. Rivaille raised an eyebrow, trying to calm the child by bouncing him in his arms. You might’ve laughed at the sight before, but now, it was natural. He was home. He was love.

“Why?”

“Roana… the only thing she could remember was ‘Smith’, her husband’s name. I want to name this… our baby after that love.”

Smith stopped wailing, the cries succumbing to coos. You didn’t remember the pain you’d felt any longer as you watched your child coo at you, miniature lips raised into a snarky smile that resembled him so closely all ready.

Death is forever. Sadness is endless. But love makes those eternities a little more bearable.

Your ring glimmered in the setting sun’s rays as you were finally…

Happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: http://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/145783118181/glimmer-ma-language-blood-torture-depression


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